


I See a Red Door

by spectaculacularsammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Healing, BAMF!Reader, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cunnilingus, Curing A Demon, Cursed Object, Cursed Sam, Dean Needs A Hug, Dean has flashbacks, Dean smells spicy, Demon Dean Winchester, Demon Dean still thinks about Doctor Sexy, Demon Dean's a dick, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks to before the story started, Hurt/Comfort, I see a red door, Lots of Classic Rock references, Not an "and they all lived happily ever after" fic, Olfactory memory - which is remembering smells, Oral Sex, Physical Abuse, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Sam Winchester is a true gentleman, Sam being tied up, Sam has flashbacks, Sam smells musky, Sam's hurt shoulder, Smutty-Sam-goodness NOT in a flashback (finally), Smutty-Sam-goodness in a flashback, Some canon dialogue too, Texting, The First Blade, Vaginal Sex, Wordcount: Over 100.000, a couple references to Taylor Swift, angelic memory wiping/altering, bathtub snuggles, blood tasting, borrowed but tweaked canon dialogue, curses boxes, even more feels than before, fic starts between season 9 and 10, flashbacks to the beginning of the story start somewhere in season 9, fun with drippy fruit, lots of feels, rape flashbacks, reader panic attack, the bunker is not sound proof, the fic ends at season 10 episode 4: Paper Moon, unconscious Sam, you being tied up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 13:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 117,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2813462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(formerly Just One Little Taste)<br/>Possessed by The Mark of Cain, the Dean Winchester you and Sam once knew, no longer exists. <i>This<i></i></i> Dean Winchester is a monster, but like always, Winchesters find a way where there isn't one.<br/>Driven by devotion to his brother, and by his love for you, Sam picks up the pieces of his broken and shattered family, but will it ever be enough?</p><p><i>I See a Red Door's</i> title and chapter titles are based off of <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo"><i>Paint it Black</i></a>, by The Rolling Stones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I See a Red Door and I Want It Painted Black

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

"Are you scared?" Dean asks with his jet black eyes staring into your tear-filled ones.

You and Sam have been tailing Dean for weeks. You thought you had been so close to finding him, but somehow Dean doubled back and found you and Sam instead.

Both you and Sam have spent days in an old shack in the middle of the woods, eating what little food you had squirreled away in your packs, and sleeping on the filthy bed left behind by the previous occupants, and Dean found you with little to no effort. Once Dean _somehow_ burst into the shack, it was mere seconds before everything went black. When you abruptly re-entered consciousness, you realized that you and Sam were strung up, with your arms pulled high above your head, and your toes barely touching the ground.

With the tip of the First Blade, Dean cuts three buttons from your plaid shirt and runs the bone-made blade down the curve of your breasts.

"I said," Dean repeats while he lifts your chin with one finger, so you're looking into his black eyes. "Are you scared?"

"Sh-should I be?" Your voice waivers when you answer Dean, but this isn't Dean, this is a  _demon._

Dean chuckles darkly and pops off the rest of the buttons of your shirt. "I could never hurt this face." His fingers longingly trace your cheek bone. "I promise, I won't hurt you." Dean leans in so his face is right in yours, and his lips brush against yours. "Unless you ask me to."

You don't mean to, but a tiny whimper escapes your mouth. Like he loves the sound, Dean pulls his face back away from yours, grins at you as he looks you up and down, and runs the First Blade down your naked torso. You gasp when it's sharp edge just barely nicks your skin.

"Dean! Let her go!" Sam roars while he struggles against his bonds, but he quickly falls silent from shock when Dean raises his hand and smacks you across the face.

After the shock wears off, you whine and groan while moving your jaw around in an attempt to chase the sharp pain away. "Thought you said you weren't going to hurt me?" You spit a mouthful of blood to the ground.

"I don't want to, baby." Dean smiles wickedly and runs the edge of his blade through the small stream of blood dripping from your middle.

"Then let her go, Dean!" Sam yells again. "It's me you want, and I'm right here!"

 _Smack_!

Dean's hand collides with the exact same spot on your face, again. The force of the blow makes you lose your already unsteady footing, and all your weight falls on your arms, trussed up in a rope above you, hanging from a thick wooden beam in the ceiling.

"DEAN! STOP!" Sam desperately tries again.

 _SMACK_!

The next blow immediately knocks you unconscious, but Dean grabs your shoulders and roughly shakes you. "Uh, uh, uh," he sings his warning in a deep voice. "Can't have you falling asleep now. You'll miss all the fun." He rips your button-less plaid shirt from your weak arms, and with the sharp edge of his blade, he cuts one strap of your bra.

"Dean, please. Don't do this," you beg with blood-laced drool dripping from your numb lips. "We just want to save you. Let us help you."

"And if I don't _want_ to be saved?"

"You do!" You insist, "I know you do."

Dean unbuttons your jeans and pulls down the zipper, but just barely tugs your jeans down your hips. Like feathers, his calloused fingers lightly graze your skin as they roam back up your torso, your ribs, and over the mounds of your breasts.

"What if I want something else?" He asks with dark seduction dripping from his words, and his teeth giving the delicate skin of your neck a nip.

Sam's been struggling against his ropes since he's been back in consciousness, but now that you're half-naked, and Dean's making it crystal-clear as to what his intentions are, Sam knows he needs to get out of his ropes.

Dean's fingers run over the elastic of your underwear, dragging the soft cotton and the denim waistband of your jeans just under hip bones.

"So, what--" You start, trying to distract Dean, but Sam cuts you off.

"Fuckin' hell, Dean! Let! Her! GO!" Sam yanks on his ropes to accent his words. "It's me you want! I'm right here!"

 _Crack_! Dean punches you.

"STOP! DEAN! Just stop--" The younger Winchester begs, but his words are cut off when Dean punches you again.

 _Crack_!

"Stop! You're hurting her!" Sam pleads again as he continues to wrench on his ropes, desperately hoping it or the wooden beam above his head will snap. "Just--"

"Sam!" You scream out feeling your face throb where Dean's fist collided with your face. The elder Winchester's fist freezes just inches from your face. "Sam... _Stop_. Just stop!" You beg breathlessly, having figured out what Dean's doing.

Dean's lethal fist falls down to his side, and you let out a ragged breath, leaning forward, letting all your weight pull painfully on your shoulders.

"You always were a smart girl, weren't you? I thought I was going to have to keep right on hitting your pretty face, but you're a quick study." Dean pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs your sweaty and bloody face. "Be a good girl, and tell Sam why he needs to keep his fucking mouth shut."

Closing your eyes and letting your head hang down to your chest, you breathe. "I don't know why," you tell Sam. "But he's hurting me to get to you. Every time you say something, or yell at him to stop, he hits me: it's how he's getting to you."

"Very good, ______," Dean praises while tipping a bottle of water he's dug out of his jacket pocket up to your lips, and he grins when you drink the liquid down greedily. "See, I could beat the shit outta Sammy. I could string him up and beat him bloody and break his bones, but that'll never hurt him as much as what I could do to you. _Another_ person getting hurt on account of Sam Winchester? _Another_ _girl_ terrorized because of him? Now _that's_  my baby brother's weak spot. And you know what the thing is? I could beat Sam within an inch of his life, and he'd take it, because he thinks he deserves it. And where the fuck is the fun in that? You, little girl, _you_ don't deserve this at all, and _that's_ what makes this _fun_."

Dean pauses to cut the last strap of your bra, only the material still wrapped around your breasts and ribs holding it in place, giving you just a tiny amount of coverage. Once again, the blade makes a cut into your skin, deeper this time, on your shoulder, and Sam, who now knows if he makes another noise will earn you another blow to your face, bites off a desperate plea for Dean to stop.

"See, you two think you've been hot on my trail, and you were, but I did one better. I've been watching you this whole time. Hurting you is the best way to hurt Sammy. Do you know what he's done to me?"

You shake your head.

"Oh, the list is long, baby. First," Dean runs his finger through the trail of blood on your shoulder and rubs it against your lips. You try to move your mouth away, but he holds your head firmly in place and puts his bloody finger in your mouth, rubbing your tongue, and forcing you to taste your own blood. "He fucking left me, me and my dad. Ran out on us for some shit-hole-apple-pie life. HE RAN OUT ON HIS FAMILY! And there was this demon bitch, Ruby. Oh, she was a _real_ fucking treat, let me tell you! Then, there was the fucking angels who were hell bent on gettin' into this sweet ass a'mine. Let's see what else?" Dean pauses dramatically, "Oh yeah, then he let some vamp turn me, and then he left me to fucking ROT in purgatory! Left me for a God dammed dog and some slut named Amelia. Sam's got this comin', and I've seen the way he looks at you." Dean slides his hand down the cup of your bra and brushes his fingers over the peak of your nipple, smirking when you try to squirm away. "It all started out as cuddles for comfort, back in that motel in Ohio. But then, in Montana, I watched you ride him like a fuckin' stallion. My boy, Sammy, he loves you, and you're the best way to get at him."

"NO!" Sam yells. "Don't you fucking touch her!"

With black eyes both cold and dead, Dean punches you in the face, then abandons your side to saunter over to Sam.

"You love her, don't ya, Sammy?"

But Sam doesn't get a chance to answer, because Dean ties his handkerchief over his brother's mouth as a makeshift gag.

"This'll shut you the fuck up!" Dean pats Sam's shoulder and walks back to you. "So, the way I figure is..." Dean wipes a trail of bloody saliva from your lips, and then licks his fingers clean. "If I show Sammy how it's gonna be - if he doesn't leave me the hell alone - maybe it'll be some sort of incentive for him to back the fuck off, and I think _you'll_ be that incentive. Now that I've got this mark, I can do all sorts of things that'll make your toes curl, things Sammy would never _dream_ of doin' to you."

Your eyes go wide as your brain finally realizes completely what Dean means to do to you. "No! Please, Dean, don't do this."

"Oh, but I am, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you raw, and you'll love it, I promise."

"NO!" You desperately fight against your ropes, but Dean just laughs.

"You do this..." Dean strokes your face and neck. "I'll let you and Sammy go, IF you promise you'll never come after me again."

You shrug his hand away."I let you fuck me, and you'll let us go? Just like that? Right..."

" _Let_? Oh, honey, I'm going to fuck your pussy twelve ways from Sunday either way, but it's all up to you how messy it gets. You take my cock like a good girl, and I'll let you go. But if you don't, I'll _make_ you take it, and I guarantee it'll end bloody for both you and Sam. So, what's it gonna be?"

Sam protests wildly behind the gag in his mouth, and you look over at him: bound and gagged, tied helplessly to the ceiling. "It's going to be okay," you whisper to Sam, who immediately starts screaming through his gag, but you look away from him and back at Dean. "I can't make that promise for Sam. I can't make him stop trying to save you. You know I can't."

Dean shrugs, and his black eyes glisten. "True."

"Am I gonna live through this?"

"I just want one little taste, sweetheart. You don't fight, you don't get hurt... _much_. And after, you and Sammy can go. Unless you're a slut for my cock, then maybe I'll let you stay with me?"

"How do I know you're not lying?" You ignore his vulgar words. "You've made it very clear you're not Dean. He would never do this! He would never _make_ me..."

An evil grin twists itself on Dean's full lips. "You don't."

"You'll let us go? You'll let Sam go?"

Dean nods his head and holds up his hand. "Scouts honor."

"Fine." Your chest heaves as you pull in rapid and terrified breaths, your whole body shakes.

Dean kisses your swollen and bloody lips hard, and it hurts. "Say _yes_."

You squeeze your eyes shut. "Yes."

"Say it, again," Dean orders while his fingers pull at the cups of your bra.

Opening your eyes, you look up at Dean and stare into his coal-black eyes. "Yes."

Dean groans. "There's a good girl. I'll make it good, don't you worry; I'll make you _scream_."

Sam roars behind his gag and fights the ropes wrapped around his wrists, but it's all in vain. The ropes are pulled much too tightly and his wrists are twisted the wrong way. Dean taught Sam how to get out of ropes, and he purposely tied them in such a way that not even Sam could get free.

With his blade, Dean cuts down the ropes painfully wrapped around your wrists and catches you when you weakly fall. You yelp in pain when he presses your strained and sore shoulders into his chest.

"There's my girl," Dean whispers and lays you down on the bed in the corner of the shack.

Both you and Dean hear Sam scream behind his gag, but it goes ignored.

With an odd sense of gentleness, Dean pulls off your jeans and underwear and removes your bra, his blade resting on the musty mattress by your head. Slowly, he unbuttons his own jeans and opens them just enough to pull out his cock. "You ready, little girl? You gonna be good for me?"

You let out a little whimper and Dean smiles. "WAIT! Dean, please, just wait," you beg him.

"What? What do you need, baby girl?" Dean wipes the tears from your eyes and smoothens your hair out of your face, but there's no love on his face, just evil.

"Please, let me see your eyes. You can do anything you want, just let me see your eyes. Please..."

Dean brushes his lips against yours and gives you that sadistic black-eyed grin again. With no warning and no prep he forces himself inside you and growls his reply. " _No_."


	2. I Could Not Foresee This Thing Happening to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before The Mark of Cain, before the Dean you knew was gone, Dean Winchester was a friend, but he was more than that: he was family, all three of you were.  
> Seeing the trail of pain, terror, and tears, the monster inside his brother has left behind, Sam does everything in his power to put you back together.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

Even as a demon, Dean Winchester is true to his word, and he makes good on every dark promise: every sadistic one of them. Just like he said you would, you scream as he moves painfully inside you. You scream and sob yourself hoarse, but Dean and those black eyes, they never go away, and it seems like an eternity goes by before the pain finally stops.

After Dean _finishes_ with you, he pulls up his pants, drags his hand over your bruised, numb, yet aching, and completely naked body, then reaches for his blade next to your head. You flinch away, petrified of his hands.

“Oh, baby.” Dean strokes your sweaty hair, and you literally have no strength to move away from him, even though you’re not being pinned down anymore. “I hope it was as good for you as it was for me. I promise you we’ll do this again sometime, if you even _think_ of coming after me again. Do you understand?”

Completely exhausted and paralyzed by terror and fear, you just look up at Dean, physically unable to answer him.

Dean threads his fingers through your hair that he was, just seconds ago, stroking almost gently, but this time he gives your hair a sharp tug. With his face in yours, his black eyes peering in your own tear-filled eyes, he growls his question again, “Do you understand? You don’t keep your promises, then I don’t keep mine.”

Vaguely you hear wood creak and Sam’s bandana-gagged voice from the other side of the room. Dean’s promise, from what seems like lifetimes ago, replays itself in your head: _You take my cock like a good girl, and I'll let you go, but if you don't, I'll **make** you take it, and I guarantee it'll end bloody for both you and Sam._

Desperately wanting to convey to Dean that you understand him, you try to speak, but nothing comes out. You swallow a couple of times and run your tongue over your dry lips, tasting your own blood, but you still can’t make your voice work.

“Say that again, sweetheart? I didn’t quite catch that.” Dean’s hand not tangled in your hair, presses into the bruised and tender skin of your neck. “I’ll ask one more time. Do. _You_. Un-der-stand? Or do you want Sam to be a bloody pile of moose on the floor? He’d make a big pile, and I’ll make you watch.” Mercifully, his hand leaves your neck and moves up to cup your chin.

 _Not Sam. No._ “I understand,” you croak, nodding your head.

Dean fingers loosen from their grip on your hair and he pats the top of your head. “You are such a good little girl, Short Stack, never gonna find another one like you, am I? You sure you don’t want to come with me?” His thumb skims over your bottom lip, and he bends down to kiss you.

Sam’s muffled yells sound from the other side of the room. You press yourself as far as possible into the filthy mattress to get away from him, but there’s no getting away. Dean’s too strong, and right now you’re weak, broken, bloody, and bruised.

“No,” you manage to beg, wishing there was more force behind the word.

“Well, if you’re sure…” Dean stands up from the saggy bare mattress, wraps his fist around The First Blade, and crosses the small room to Sam’s corner of the shack. “Heyya, Sammy. Enjoy the show?”

He doesn’t give Sam a chance to reply in his garbled, gag-filled way and unceremoniously cuts the ropes tied to the highest beam in the ceiling. He watches Sam’s body crumble to the dirty wooden floor, then he stalks off toward the door, but almost as an afterthought pauses in the doorway and looks back at his brother. “If you get sick of her, call me up. I’ll take her off your hands.” Dean’s black eyes roam over to your body one more time. “Bye, sweetheart.”

Not waiting even a second to catch his breath, Sam bolts up from the floor and yanks off the bandana covering his mouth, while he rushes over to you on the bed. Feeling a presence next to you, you instinctively flinch away.

“It’s okay,” he says gently, while shrugging off his jacket and draping it over you. “It’s just me, you’re safe now.”

“Sam?” You whimper and turn your head toward his voice.

“Yeah, it’s me.” Slowly, he reaches his hand up to brush the hair out of your eyes, which are blood shot and filled with tears, but you jerk your face away. “Tell me what to do,” Sam begs with his own set of tears falling down his face. “What can I do?”

You shake your head and engaging your neck muscles sends a vague, nevertheless terrifying message, to your brain that even though Dean’s gone, the pain isn’t. “Need to go after De--“ Your voice cracks when you say his name, and you remember the last thousand times you said his name, _begged_ his name _. Not him_ , you remind yourself, _that wasn’t Dean._ “Can’t let him get away.”

“What? No.” Sam moves to wipe the tears running down your cheeks, but he stops and remembers how you jumped when he got close. He lays down on the stained mattress next to you, but keeps his distance. “You want me to go after him and leave you alone? After what--“ It’s Sam’s turn for his voice to crack.

 _Alone._ “NO!” Your hand flies up and grabs at Sam’s, and the quick motion is literally the last trace amount of energy you have. “Sam, get me out of here,” you beg with trembling lips. “Please.”

“Okay,” he answers in a ragged voice. He carefully brushes the top of your hand with his thumb, and somewhere deep down you know it’s supposed to be comforting, but nothing’s comforting right now. He kisses your hand before he stands up from the bed, and he doesn’t see the grimace form on your face from the tiny action _._

 _Lips. Dean’s – that **thing’s** lips… Everywhere_.

After retrieving your jeans from the floor, Sam looks for your shoes. When you can’t see him, you start to panic, but he’s quickly back in your sights again. He looks so big from your angle, you laying on the bed while he stands over you, and he must realize his position makes him look intimidating because he crouches down just a little bit.

He touches your hand again, and you feel warm skin and rough denim. “Can I…?” He pauses to wipe his face. “Need to get you dressed, okay?”

His breath is hot on your face; it makes your skin crawl, but you still nod your head. Your face must show some sort of discomfort because Sam touches your foot carefully and rubs the skin – probably the only skin, Dean– _that monster_ didn’t touch. You squeeze your eyes shut at the memory of _him_ and turn your face away, trying to swallow your sobs.

“Shhhhh,” Sam whispers. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you out of here, I swear.” He carefully slides your jeans up your legs, and then the pain comes back when the slightest pressure is put on the insides of your thighs and between your legs. You wince and pull in a sharp breath through your nose. Sam must look under his jacket to see the source of pain, because you hear him gasp. “Jesus… I have to get you to the hospital.”

Your eyes pop open. “NO!” You shake your head. “No. No hospitals.”

“Yes, you need to go,” Sam’s words are so gentle, and it’s then in your foggy, exhausted mind you, for the first time, really realize how good he is at that. “You’re… _______, you’re bleeding.”

Of course, you’re bleeding, but still, no hospitals. “No, Sam. Please. No hospital. Just take me…"  _Home_. But home is too far; you’re on the road. “Just get me out of here.”

Sam’s eyes close, and a small, but pained sigh comes out of his mouth. “Alright.” He nods his head, then finishes putting on your jeans. “I’m going to grab the bags. I’ll just be right over there, okay?”

You nod your head and close your eyes. The next time you open them, you’re outside, and Sam’s carrying you through the woods.

“Sam?” You ask, confused. “Where are we?”

“In the woods. Just walking back to the truck. We’re almost there.”

You feel his thumbs rubbing your shoulder and thigh where his hands are holding you in his arms. “No hospital. Please, Sam, promise.”

He lets out that pained sigh again. “No hospitals. I promise.”

As soon as Sam makes his promise, everything goes dark.

*//*

Before you met Sam and Dean, out of the blue, you decided to surprise your parents with an impromptu visit home, and it had been a surprise, but not for your parents: it had been a surprise for you.

A pair of _things_ were dining on your parents, pieces of your family strewn from one end of the kitchen to the other, and when _they_ saw you walk into their feeding ground, predatory grins spread across their faces.

With speed you couldn’t even begin to comprehend, and after a struggle you didn’t possess the strength to fight, you were strapped to the dining room table that you ate breakfast at for eighteen years, and the _things_ lapped at the blood that drained from your slashed wrists. Just as everything started to mercifully go dark and comfortably cold, two men burst through the front door.

Your vision was blurry, but you were still able to see the two men work quickly with gleaming blades, and the heads of the things, bounced off the same floor your parents told you was where you took your first steps. After that, your parent’s house was no longer a home, it was a space filled with death, and your childhood memories were coated with the stinky residue of blood that would never wash off.

The two men, you later learned were Sam and Dean Winchester, unstrapped you from the table, wound plaid and flannel tightly around your wrists and brought you to the hospital where you were born. The world was buzzing and the edges of your vision blurred white, but you saw them turn to leave.

Just before the ER nurse wheeled you away, you yelled, “They said there were two more!” Then everything went dark. When you woke up everything ached and burned, but a pair of warm hazel eyes was the first thing you saw, and somehow you knew you were safe.

“I’m Sam,” the hazel- eyed man told you. “My brother’s taking care of everything, and you’ll be safe now.” His warm hand patted your shoulder, and he walked out of the white and sterile hospital room.

It had been complete happenstance when you ran into the hazel-eyed Sam one more time before you were taken into their fold. With no family left, you simply got into your car when you were discharged from the hospital and just drove. It was in a random Gas ‘n Sip, where you were buying a bottle of ibuprofen for the pain in your wrists that never seemed to go away, where you saw them again.

Over greasy burgers and salty french fries, Sam and his brother (who kept stealing your fries) told you the things that killed your parents were ghouls. And since you were always one full of questions, you asked every one you could think of.

The fry stealing brother, Dean, wasn’t as quick to trust as Sam, but it seemed that after his second slice of pie, Dean was pleasantly full and at least more _accepting_ to your curiosity. After they learned the ghouls killed your only family, the brothers got a look in their eyes that immediately told you they could relate.

After the last cold french fry was eaten, and the last morsel of pie crust gone from Dean’s plate, Sam and Dean walked over to the front counter of the diner to pay for the meals. You watched while shrugging on your jacket, as they had a quiet conversation, and then a competitive game of Rock, Paper, Scissors. Even from the booth, it was obvious that Sam had won, and he looked up at you with a grin, then waved you over.

That was how you came to live at the bunker: a pack of ghouls and a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors.

-

For months you lived there, your bedroom across the hall and two doors down from Dean’s, one door away from Sam’s.

At first, your time at the bunker was lonely. It seemed Sam and Dean were called away to cases more often than not, leaving you to fend for yourself in the strange new place, and you spent most of your time in the library.

One day when they were both back from a case, Sam came up behind you in the library and cleared his throat softly. “You’ve been spending a lot of time up here. Do you like to read?”

Looking up at Sam from your place on the floor made him look huge, more huge than normal. “Is this all real?”

Sam sat down next to you and peeked at the cover of your book. “Hellhounds? Oh yeah,” he groaned. “They’re real.”

You closed the book and tossed it into the pile of other books you’d been reading. All of a sudden you felt overwhelmed, and you tucked your knees up to your chest. “So all of these… They’re all real?”

Sam rifled through the two dozen books you had taken off the shelves. “Djinn? Vampires? Werewolves? Shojo? You’ve read through all of these?”

You nodded your head and pointed to another stack of books behind Sam. “Those too.”

After giving you a sympathetic look, Sam moved over so he was sitting next to you. “So you _really_ like to read, huh?”

Taking your legs from your chest and stretching them out in front of yourself, you nodded your head. “Well, I _did_ , but now that I’m not going to be able to sleep for the next _forever_ , I think I’m done for a while.”

Sam stood up from the floor and held out his hand. You hesitantly took it, and he pulled you up. “You know,” he started to say as he led you through a maze of stacks. “There _is_ a fiction section in here.”

“Really?” You looked up at Sam with eager eyes. “I looked for like a week to find something a little less hair-raising.”

“Yup. It’s kind of way in the back, but it’s here. I have a bunch of books in my room too, if you can’t find something you’re looking for.”

After several twists and turns in the far back stack of the library, was the fiction section. It was small, and it was dusty, but there it was. “I feel like I should have made lipstick arrows so I can find my way back here.”

“Are you a _Labyrinth_ fan?” Sam asked after he sat down on the floor next to a half empty row of books.

You nodded your head and sat down next to Sam. “Very much so. I can’t believe The Letters had a fiction section.”

“I couldn’t either, but I’m glad they did. It’s kept me sane.

You grabbed for a book. “Holy crap! They have _The Space Merchants_?”

Sam grinned. “You’ve read that?”

“Yeah, my mom had a copy. She told me how she remembered reading it in old copies of—“

“ _Galaxy Science Fiction_ ,” you and Sam said at the same time and both grinned at each other.

“ _Fahrenheit_ _451_! I read this in college!” You grabbed another book of the dusty shelf, with a smile spread across your face.

Sam grabbed another couple books off the shelf and handed them to you. “What college did you go to?”

“Saint Scholastica. You?”

“Uh, Stanford for a little bit, but then… Things didn’t work out.”

You could tell by the tone of Sam’s voice and the look on his face, that he’d rather not talk about college. “Thanks for showing this to me,” you said as you stood up from the floor with an armful of books.

“I could tell you were getting kind of bored. Sorry we’ve been gone so much. I’ve been meaning to talk to you sooner. It’s just… things are kind of crazy right now.”

“I can tell, and I’ve been trying to stay out of the way.” You followed Sam as he led you out of the stacks.

“You haven’t been in the way.”

“Dean thinks I am.”

Sam sighed. “Dean… He’s… He’ll warm up, I promise. Just give him time.”

“Is there anything I can do? I mean I feel kind of useless. There’s only so much laundry I can wash, and I’ve been trying to read stuff so I maybe could help with research but…”

“Thanks for doin’ that, by the way…the laundry. You really don’t have to.”

“What else is there for me to do around here?”

Sam paused, looked down at you, and smirked “You ever picked a lock?”

“Lock Picking 101 wasn’t exactly on the course list for St. Scholastica.”

“You wanna learn?

The next time Sam and Dean were back at the bunker, Sam found you in the library, sat down on the leather sofa with a padlock and a leather pouch filled with slender metal rods, and proceeded to show you how to pick locks. You learned the task in hours, and he brought you to various locks around the bunker, showing you which way to turn the picks for the quickest way to break into the rooms.

Another time, Sam messaged your phone and asked you to meet him downstairs. He was at the table with files and books scattered all around him.

“Wanna help me with research?” He asked. You nodded your head, and the two of you spent the night lost in dusty books.

You and Sam continued to bond over your mutual love of all things “nerdy”. The two of you swapped favorite books and movies, and as one common interest led to another, you really became fast friends.

Dean, however, he was a more difficult lock to pick, and it was Sam who told you if you wanted to get into Dean’s good graces, the best way to do that was through his stomach. Of course, he was right.

It took a few pies, some philly cheese steak sandwiches, burgers made from your dad’s secret recipe, and Dean was singing your praises. And while your bond with Sam was a strong one, it seemed the one you would eventually forge with Dean was different.

Dean’s olive branch was to attempt to fix up your car. That day at breakfast, Dean grabbed your last piece of bacon from your plate and said, “C’mon, Short Stack, let’s go take a look at that death trap of yours.”

“Short Stack?” You grabbed back at your piece of bacon, but Dean held it high above your head so you couldn’t reach it.

“See,” He waved the piece of bacon above your head with a smirk on his face, then shoved it in his mouth. “ _Short Stack_.”

“Hey, you leave Ringo alone. He is not a death trap, he’s just…very _mature_.”

“Ringo?”

“It’s a VW Beetle, Dean. The Beatles…Ringo Starr.”

Dean laughed. “Fair enough. Nothing wrong with _mature_ cars. My car’s been around for a while too.”

“See?”

“But just so you know, my Baby could eat your Ringo alive.” Dean bumped his shoulder into yours on the way to the garage.

You bumped him back. “She wouldn’t dare.”

-

Over several weeks Dean replaced more tubes, valves, and fluids than you could count, and you sat on a short rolling chair, just watching him.

One day you finally asked him a question. “Dean, how come you’re doing this? I’m sure you have a million more important things to be doing.”

Dean rolled his creeper out from under your canary yellow Beetle and smirked up at you with grease smudged across his face. “Hand me that wrench, there?”

You picked up what looked like a wrench, handed it to him, and let him avoid the question.

“Nope, _that_ one.” He stretched to point at the wrench he wanted.

You grabbed the right one and handed it to him.

“Crescent Wrench,” he explained while showing it to you. “Well, not sure if this one’s Crescent or not.” He tried to wipe away the grease from the handle with his greasy fingers, but wasn’t able to and shrugged his shoulders when he couldn’t tell for sure. Dean looked up at you and continued, “Crescent is a brand, but that’s what everyone calls it.”

“The more you know…” You teased.

“The more you know,” Dean echoed and slid back under your car. “So what’s with the hippy dippy stickers? The peace, love, and Woodstock?” The sounds of him tightening and loosening with the Crescent wrench started back up.

You snickered. “Was my dad’s car.”

The wrench’s sounds stopped. “Oh yeah?”

“Yup. Everything’s original. My dad is… _was_ big on keeping Ringo true to his roots.”

“Sounds like he was a good man.”

“He was.”

The garage was silent for a while, then Dean’s voice came out from under the car. “So, you said everything’s original? Does that include the oil? Looks like the last time this was changed was when Abbey Road was released.”

“I don’t know if it’s been _that_ long.”

“Pretty damn close.” Dean slid out from under the car, stood up, and walked over to the work bench. He dug in a drawer, pulled out a filthy piece of material, and tossed it to you. “Put this on." He smirked. "You’re gonna learn how to change the oil.”

It had been cramped under your tiny Beetle, and you were more on Dean’s creeper than your own, but you could officially change your own oil. You quickly decided that you’d probably have Dean do it from then on, or pay someone to do it. Doing it yourself took twice as long as Valvoline, and you didn’t get covered from head to toe with oil when someone else did it.

“So, Sammy’s been teaching you how to pick locks and dig up lore?” Dean passed you a grimy bottle of Gojo to wash the oil off your hands. It smelled vaguely like oranges and felt gritty on your hands, but took the grease off fairly well.

“Yeah, he gives me little assignments. Like scenarios with minimal intel, and I have to figure out what the monster is and how to kill it.”

Dean nodded his head and chuckled. “Sounds like something his geek brain would do. So, a string of kids are sick with pneumonia, and they’re not getting better. What do you do?”

You rinsed the gritty soap from your hands. “Pull on a pair of scrubs and play nurse. Talk to the doctor who’s treating them.”

“You could do that, but going in as CDC would be better. The staff at the hospital could check your nurse badge in two seconds in their database and find out it’s fake. The CDC, however, would take their sweet ass time.”

“Makes sense. Got it.”

“So after you find out that the kids are being treated for pneumonia, but nothing’s working, then what do you do.”

“Check out one of the vic’s homes.”

“Yup. And there you find a funky looking hand print on the kid’s window ledge. Then what?”

“All I get is sick kids and a hand print?”

“That’s all _we_ got.”

You sighed and followed Dean back into the bunker. “Then, research. Monsters that attack kids, that make them sick… Oh, wait, I just read that.” You snapped your fingers, trying to find the monster in your brain. “It’s a Striga!”

Dean grinned and nodded his head. “Took you long enough.”

“Shut up.” You elbowed him in the ribs.

“How do you kill it?”

“While it’s feeding.”

“With what, Einstein?”

“Oh. Consecrated iron.”

“Yahtzee.” Dean stopped in the hallway and looked you up and down.

“What the hell are you doing?” You jokingly pushed Dean away, but he didn’t stop looking. “Quit that, perv!”

“Oh, you wish.” Dean winked. “You wanna learn the side of hunting that doesn’t involve books?”

“You gonna keep staring like Creepy McPervson?”

Dean shrugged. “Maybe.” He rolled his eyes at your mock-offended expression. “C’mon, kiddo.”

-

And that’s all it took. A stolen piece of bacon and a faceful of thick and dirty oil, and Dean let you in.


	3. No Colors Anymore, I Want Them to Turn Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam gets you to a hotel room, and washes away what pain he can.  
> Another flashback to happier times at The Bunker with Sam and Dean.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

Your eyes flutter open when you feel yourself being touched. “No!” You scream and fight against the set of hands you feel on your body. “Please, Dean! Stop!” All the good memories of Dean melt away, and all you can remember is the pain, and Dean’s cold black eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me,” Sam whispers while he holds you in his arms.

“Let me go, Sam,” you sob. “Please, just… Don’t touch me.” Sam instantly lies you back on a scratchy pillow and moves away. You curl up in a ball and continue to cry. Everything hurts.

Sam lays down on the bed next to you, careful that he’s not touching you. “We’re in a motel room. You’re safe now. _He_ can’t get in here. Do you need anything? Are you thirsty?”

You shake your head; you’re not anything. The only thing you feel is pain. You move your hand up to your face to wipe away the tears, and you can smell Dean: his spicy soap, his sweat, and other bodily fluids. You gag.

Sam flies up from the bed, grabs the nearby trash can, and holds your hair back as you vomit and dry heave into the tiny waste basket. You wipe your face after losing all the contents of your stomach, and you smell _him_ again.

“I need a shower,” you announce and try to stand up from the bed. You stumble, and Sam catches you, momentarily forgetting your request not touch you, but for a second, it’s okay, because you can smell him: Sam’s sweat, Sam’s musky scent, and even in the blood red, swirled with black eyes, screaming in your mind, you know that with Sam, you’re safe.

“I got a room with a big tub. Thought you might want a bath?” Sam offers gently.

“Bath. Yes,” you croak.

“Can you walk? I can carry you.”

“Don’t care. Need a bath. I can smell _him_.” And then it hits you, what happened. “Oh, God, Sam! He’s all over me! He…he…He _MADE_ me! But I had to, he would have… He _MADE_ me do it, Sam! He was so strong, and he said if I didn’t, he’d hurt you!” You sob into Sam’s chest. “Get him off of me, please, Sam.”

Sam scoops you up off the bed and carries you to the bathroom. His stomach churns when he smells what you’re smelling. “You’re safe, ________. He won’t hurt you again, I promise.”

Once in the bathroom, Sam flips on the light switch and sets you down on the counter top with your back to the mirror. He knows you seeing your own reflection right now, will just make things worse. Your face is black and blue, one of your eyes is swollen shut, and your lips are busted and bloody.

He watches your shaky hands fumble with the zipper of his jacket. He wants to help, but he doesn’t want to upset you anymore than you already are. Finally, your hands pull the zipper down. He watches you try to shrug his jacket off, but you cry out at the pain.

“I can help,” he says softly. You nod your head, so he does.

Carefully, he slides his huge jacket off your shoulders and throws it on the floor. Your arms immediately fly up to cover your naked chest. Sam averts his eyes and reaches for the towel hanging on the wall. He drapes it over you, and you hold it tightly to your body.

He remembers how Dean unzipped your pants, so he asks permission before he even touches you. “Can you get your pants off, or do you need help?”

“Just do it. It doesn’t matter anyway,” you groan and lean back against the cool mirror.

“Yes, it does matter.” Sam says gently and reaches up to touch your face, but stops when he sees you flinch. “I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t want to do. I’m not going to hurt you. If you say 'no,' I’ll stop.”

Staring up at Sam for a minute, you consider his words, then whimper, "Help me, please?"

“Anything you need, I swear I’ll do it,” Sam promises and carefully unbuttons and unzips your jeans. Remembering how painful it was to put your jeans back on you, he, as carefully as possible, eases them down your hips, but stops when you yelp in pain and reach out to him.

“I’m sorry.” He pats your hand that is death gripped to his shoulder.

“S’okay. Just get ‘em off me. Need a bath,” you repeat with your head still leaning back against the mirror, and your eyes squeezed shut.

“Okay.” He gently pulls your jeans the rest of the way off and tosses them outside the bathroom, but not before he sees that the inseam of your jeans is stained with blood.

His stomach gives him another nauseated turn, but he wills it to go away. “I’m going to turn on the water.” He rubs your hand still holding his shoulder. “I’ll be two feet away, alright?” You moan your response, and Sam takes your hand from his shoulder and rests it in your towel covered lap.

You flinch when the pipes give a little creak once the water is on, and Sam reassures you again, “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Once Sam adjusts the water, and the tub starts to fill, he carefully scoops you up from the counter top with your towel still wrapped around your naked chest, and eases you into the water.

You wince and gasp in pain when the water touches your ripped and torn skin, but as soon as the burn passes, the warm water is slightly soothing. You stretch out in the garden tub while Sam sets the motel’s complimentary soap and shampoos on the edge of the tub with a wash cloth. When he’s done, you just look at them, then look up at Sam.

“I can help if you want me to," Sam offers carefully.

You don’t answer, you just look down at your dirty and bloody hands and fingernails. You run your fingertips up your bruised arms, and wince when you touch the deep cut in your shoulder. You don’t so much wince from the pain, but from the memory of how you got the wound.

“This is going to need stitches,” you whisper to Sam.

“I noticed that. I can do it when you’re cleaned up.” Sam kneels down on the hard tiled floor. “Do you need help? Or do you want me to give you some privacy.”

“Stay?”

Sam nods his head. “I can stay. Whatever you want.”

“I can smell him,” you say flatly, your blood, Dean's sweat, and his other bodily fluids strong in your nose.

“I know. I’ll make the smell go away.” Sam takes a chance and slowly reaches for wash cloth. He puts it down in the water, brings it up to the crown of your head, and wrings it out over your hair. He does this over and over again until your hair is wet enough for him to wash. After he pours a palm full of shampoo into his hand, he softly rubs it into your scalp, but pulls his soapy hands away when he feels your body stiffen. “Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head and start to cry again. “Make it go away.”

“I will.” Sam promises, and his voice cracks again.

When your hair is full of bubbles, Sam reaches for the wash cloth again to rinse the soap out.

“The cup,” you whisper.

“Cup?”

“By the sink. Use the cup.”

Sam gets up to walk over to the sink to grab the cup from the counter top, and you reach out for his hand. “I’m right here.” He holds onto your hand and stretches for the cup, then kneels down next to the tub. “Can you tip your head back?” You don’t answer, you just do as he asks.

Soon the water is soapy, but your hair is clean, and you lean back in the tub, resting your head against the wall and closing your eyes.

Hoping that he’s doing the right thing, Sam takes the wash cloth and lathers it up with the small bar of soap. He cleaned your face as best he could when you were unconscious, once he got you to the truck, and he’ll do a better job once you’re out of the tub, so he washes the small smudge of blood off your collar bone, and when you don’t flinch, he washes further down your arm, all the way down to your fingertips. He carefully cleans as best he can under your fingernails, then reaches for your other arm.

When both arms are clean, Sam softly says, “If you lean forward, I’ll wash your back.”

Mechanically, you do what he says, still clutching the now soaking hand towel to your chest, while Sam washes your back. The slightly rough wash cloth actually feels good against your skin, and you close your eyes while he finishes. When he’s done, not touching you with his hands, but with the wash cloth, he leans you back against the side of the tub.

Sam knows he would never do anything to hurt you, but he also knows that right this second you think just about everything is out to hurt you, and he doesn’t want to scare you.

“_______,” he says your name gently and gives you a small smile when your eyes slowly meet his. “Do you want me to finish giving you a bath?” He watches the color that’s finally come back into your cheeks fade away, and your eyes go wide. “All you have to do is tell me to stop, and I promise I will. Okay?”

“Okay,” you murmur. You slowly move the wet towel away from your chest and let it float in the tub next to you. When you see the fingertip shaped bruises scattered over your skin, you close your eyes and quickly look away.

 _Probably for the best_ , Sam thinks when you close your eyes. The bubbles in the tub are starting to melt, and the bath water is a rusty pink color.

With the softest touch possible, Sam washes your chest, your sides, and your middle. He takes the wash cloth out of the water to lather it back up, and you grab his hand.

“You’re hurt.” You look at his wrists, pushing up his wet sleeves, and examining the wounds.

“It’s just rope burn, I’m okay.”

“From where he tied us up?”

“I’m okay,” Sam tells you again.

“You saw everything, didn’t you? What _he_ did? What he… _took_.”

Sam nods his head. He doesn’t want to. He wants to lie and say he didn’t see it, because he knows it’s going to embarrass you. But he's never lied to you, and he's not going to start now. When you close your eyes again, Sam lathers up the wash cloth again and washes down your legs, and your feet.

He rinses out the wash cloth one more time. “Do you want to finish?”

Sam offers you the wash cloth, and you just stare at the once white, now ever so slightly pink wash cloth, then look up at Sam. “You’ll stop if it hurts?”

His heart clenches at how small your voice sounds, but he forces his tears back. “I’ll stop whenever you say the word.”

After you nod your head and pull your knees up, Sam carefully puts his hand into the water, and starts to wash between your legs. Even the slightest touch is extremely painful, and you grab onto Sam’s arm not elbow deep in water, and bury your face in it.

“It’s okay,” Sam tries to reassure you. “I’ve got you. Almost done.”

All you can do is nod your head in the crook of his arm, breathe in his scent, and wait for it to be over.

When he’s done you’re leaning against the wall of the tub, and Sam is sitting on the floor, staring at his hands.

“But it wasn’t Dean, it was The Mark, right? _My_ Dean would never hurt me,” you ask Sam softly.

“Never.”

“That wasn’t _our_ Dean.”

“No.”

You reach forward and pull the plug from the drain. Both you and Sam watch the pink water circle the drain. When the water is completely gone, Sam reaches for a towel and holds it up to wrap you in it.

“No.” You grab his wrist and stop him.

“No, what?” He asks softly, putting the towel down.

You take your hand back, reach for the plug, stick it back in the drain, and turn the water on again. “I can still smell him.”

-

Sam washes you and changes the water three more times until you’re satisfied, then he wraps you in a towel and carries you out into the main area of your motel room.

With a second towel, he gently dries your hair, combs it out, and then digs in your bag for clean clothes.

“Do you, umm, do you have any pads in here?” He asks carefully.

“Pink bag,” you answer with your head in your hands.

Sam finds everything he's looking for, but most of your clothes are dirty from staying in the shack for days, so he grabs your last clean pair of underwear, a pad, then he digs in his own bag for one of his shirts.

He fumbles with the slippery wrapping of the pad, but eventually gets everything in what looks to be the right places, then he helps you into your underwear. He winces when you gasp in pain, but breathes a slight sigh of relief when you don’t flinch at him anymore.

One sleeve at a time, he puts his shirt over your arms and helps you button it up. Leaving the plaid shirt off your wounded shoulder, Sam digs in his own bag for the first aid kit.

“Here’s a couple pain pills. Let them kick in a little bit before I do the stitches. You just need about five or six on your shoulder, okay?”

You nod your head, take the two white pills from Sam, swallow them with a bottle of water, and lie back on the bed. When the edges of everything start to get fuzzy and everything goes numb, you sit up, almost painlessly and watch as Sam flawlessly stitches the cut on your shoulder closed.

“M’tired, Sam,” you slur from exhaustion and the pain pills.

“Let’s get you into bed.” Sam turns down the sheets and the blankets and tucks you in after you lay back on the pillows. He watches you close your eyes, and then stands up from the bed.

Once he moves, your eyes fly open, and you reach out for him. “Where are you going?” You ask, panicked.

“I’m just going to take a shower, okay? I’ll be right back.” He moves to touch your hand clenched around the hem of his shirt, but just before he gets there, you pull your hand back. “I’m gonna be right in the bathroom. Ten minutes, alright?”

You look around the room. “ _He_ can’t get in here, right?”

“Right. The doors and windows are salted, and I drew a devil’s trap under the rug. _He_ can’t get in here.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want me to wait until you fall asleep?”

“No.”

“Okay. Ten minutes, and I’ll be right back.” You nod your head, and Sam walks to the bathroom.

Once the bathroom door is closed behind him, he leans back against the door and lets out a heavy sigh. _I should have been stronger. I should have been able to get out of those ropes. I should have been able to stop him, but I couldn’t. I saw it all. I just watched._

The anger and rage for what that monster inside of his brother did to you tries to flood his mind and heart, but Sam pushes it all away. He can’t go after Dean right now, he’s exhausted, he’s weak, he’s hurt, and you need him, but he _will_ fix Dean. He _will_. _Ten minutes_ , Sam silently reminds himself.

His right shoulder is aching painfully. The pain is so bad that the two pain pills he took earlier aren’t even touching the pain, and his wrists burn where the ropes cut into his skin, but he’s ignored it until now. He makes a quick mental note to stop at the next pharmacy he drives by to pick up a sling, because his shoulder is really throbbing, but he pushes aside the aches and pains again, because he knows he needs to hurry to get back to you. He showers quickly, then dries off, and wraps a towel around his waist. When he comes back out, you’re sitting up in the bed with your knees to your chest, sobbing.

“I’m right here. It’s okay.” He wants to wrap his arms around you and tell you how sorry he is. Sorry for not being able to stop Dean, sorry for everything, but he keeps quiet and quickly pulls on a pair of boxers and a tee shirt, then sits down next to you. “Do you want me to sleep in the other bed?”

The question makes you pull your knees tighter to your chest, but you whisper, “I don’t know.”

“’Cause it’s okay if you do. I’m still right over there.”

“No. Stay.” You lay back on the bed, and Sam lays next to you, still careful not to touch you. He’s facing you, and you look at him with tears running down your face. Slowly you inch your hand over to him and link your pinky with his. “M’so tired, Sam.”

“Just go to sleep, _____. I’m right here.” He watches your eyes flutter closed, and then closes his as well.

*//*

While you sleep, you remember one time when Sam and Dean were at the bunker and Dean brought you into a room with so many guns, knives, and weapons, your eyes didn’t know which way to look. The closest thing to you was a double mace flail, and you reached out to touch it.

Dean grabbed your hand away and smirked. “Patience, grasshopper. Let’s start with the basics before you order off the menu.”

For a few hours, Dean taught you how to block attacks, and when your arms felt like they had lead in them, he switched things up and showed you how to throw a well-aimed punch.

“Dean, my arms are sore, and I’m tired,” you whined after attempting to hit Dean, who, of course, dodged your punches like they were nothing. “I’m not used to this.”

“Monsters aren’t going to care if you’re tired. C’mon, hit me!” You threw another handful of swings, and he swatted them away like nothing. “That all you got, Sarah Michelle?”

“Hey, now. No need to get mean. Buffy was bad ass!”

Dean shoved you just a little bit with a taunting smirk plastered on his face. “Then _be_ bad ass. Hit me!”

Just like Dean showed you, you shifted your weight, squared your shoulders, and threw him a right hook, which to your surprise, landed right in the middle of his face.

“Jesus H. Christ! I said be Buffy, not Lou Forrigno!” Dean cupped his face to catch the blood dripping from his nose.

You grabbed a towel from the floor and held it up to Dean’s face. “Did you ever watch _Buffy_? I’m telling you she was bad ass. And PS. you _told_ me to hit you.”

He didn’t say anything, just tossed you bitch face number twenty-three, sat down on the floor, and held the towel to his face.

“Did I at least do it right?” You sat down next to him.

Dean wiped his nose and threw the towel to the side of the room. “Yeah, you did good, kiddo.” He ruffled your sweaty hair.

“Can we be done now?” You laid back on the floor with your arms up over your head. “I’m exhausted.”

Dean laid down next to you, sniffed the air, and chucked. “You need a shower.”

After playfully kicking him, you snarked, “You need to block hits a little better.”

“Oh yeah?” Dean sat up and looked down on you.

“I think your swollen nose will back me up.”

“Let’s see if you can block this?” Dean pounced on you and tickled your sides. You tried to swat his hands away, but he was too quick and pinned both of your hands over your head with just one of his own hands.

“You win!” You squealed through your laughter.

“Win what?” He teased, while still tickling your sides and holding down your legs with his body.

“Ahhhhh!” You wiggled and squirmed to get away. “Everything!”

Dean immediately stopped and leaned his face over you so he could look into your eyes. Your arms were still pinned above your head, and both your and Dean’s chests heaved from exertion. “ _Everything_?” He asked, the single word dripping with innuendo.

“Oh, shit! Sorry!” Sam yelled as soon as he walked into the room. “Thought you guys were sparing. I’ll just…” Sam laughed while shaking his head. “I’ll just go.”

“We _were_ just sparing, then Dean talked shit about Buffy, so I punched him in his face.” You ripped your arms free and pushed at Dean’s chest to get him off of you.

“Yeah, I’m not sure that’s how it happened.” Dean stood up from the floor and extended a hand to help you up.

Sam was still laughing. “She punched you?” Then he saw Dean’s face. “And she gave you a bloody nose?”

Dean punched his brother in the shoulder to silence the laughter. “Beginner's luck.”

“Hey, those who mock Buffy, get a bloody nose. It’s only fair," you informed Dean.

Sam nodded his head in agreement. “This is true.”

Dean scoffed and poked a bruise on your forearm. “You bruise like a peach.”

“Shut up. I did awesome.”

Dean wrapped a sweaty arm around your shoulder as the three of you walked down the hall. “Yeah, Short Stack, you did.”

-

“He likes you,” Sam said out of the blue one day in the stacks.

“What? No he doesn’t.” You laughed while you struggled reach for a book two shelves above your head.

Sam reached the book with ease and handed it to you. “Yes, he does.”

“You don’t call someone you like _Short Stack_. He thinks I’m annoying, and he always steals my food.”

“He’s just happy to finally be taller than someone around here.” Sam teased, and you rolled your eyes. “He. _Likes_. You,” he enunciated his words and bumped you with his shoulder.

“You-are-in-sane,” you mocked his over enunciated words. “We’re in our thirties, if he liked me, he’d just say something. This isn’t high school.”

“He has been saying something to you. Everyday. You just don’t listen.”

After a slight pause, you whispered, “Oh.”

At that moment, a thousand different things ran through your head, like Dean letting you drive the Impala. You were used to your tiny VW Beetle and squealed the Impala’s tires on a corner.

_“Alright, easy on the corners, Maverick.” Dean rolled his eyes, but smirked down at you._

_“Maverick?” You asked. “So, does that make you Goose?”_

_“Hell, no!” he answered. “I’m Maverick, you’re Goose.”_

_“But you just said—“_

_Never willing to admit his defeat, Dean playfully punched your shoulder and said, “Just keep driving, Miss Daisy.”_

“…my whole life, and I know him,” Sam’s words pulled you out of your thoughts. “This is how he works. The nicknames, the food stealing… it’s his _foreplay_.

“I guess last week at the bar makes sense now.”

“Hey, that guy was a perv. If Dean wouldn’t have taken care of him, I would have.”

“My knights in shining armor,” you said dramatically and clutched your heart like a damsel, then rolled your eyes. “No, I meant my shirt.”

“Your shirt?”

“Yeah. He snapped at me to button up my shirt. It was two damn buttons!”

It was Sam’s turn to roll his eyes. “It was four.”

“We were going to a bar! I like my free margaritas.”

Sam laughed. “Dean’s just protective of you.”

“You’re protective of me, and _you_ didn’t freak out about my shirt.”

“That’s because I don’t _like_ you.” He smirked and elbowed you.

You knew exactly what he meant, but still pretend-played victim and looked up at him with your bottom lip poking out. “You-You don’t like me?”

“God, no. Can’t get rid of you,” Sam teased. “Movie night. Your room. Let Dean pick the movie, it’ll put him in a good mood.”

You groaned. “I really don’t want to watch _The Untouchables_ again.”

“Good point. I’ll get beer and Red Vines. You make popcorn and put in _Star Wars_ , he won’t complain about that.”

“Why my room? You have the best TV.”

“’Cause if we’re in my room, you’ll sit on my bed with me, and Dean’ll take the chair. If we’re in your room, Dean’ll flop on your bed, and I’ll take the chair.”

“If you’re imagining this, and I make myself look like a moron, I’ll hate you forever. You know that right?”

Sam just shrugged and showed off his dimples. “You couldn’t hate me even if you tried. I’ve got _these_.” He gave you his best puppy dog eyes.

“That’s unfair!” You laughed. “No one can resist them!”

Sam smirked, knowing exactly how right you were. “I’m gonna go get beer. Try three buttons this time.”

“You don’t just plan, Sam Winchester, you plot.”

-

Just like Sam said he would, Dean flopped down on your bed next to you, and Sam took the chair. When Dean was totally sucked into the movie, you tossed a look over at Sam, who nodded his head and smirked at you. About halfway through _A New Hope_ , when you leaned forward to reach for a new beer, Dean stole your pillow and packed it behind his head.

“Thief!” You exclaimed.

“I’m gettin’ old. Need the extra support.”

“It’s a pillow, Dean, not a Wonder Bra.”

In his chair, next to the bed, Sam snorted in his beer.

“Where are you going?” Dean yelled when you stood up from the bed and started to walk out of your room.

“To get the old man some more pillows.”

“Get over here,” Dean groaned and grabbed you by the waistband of your jeans. He situated you both so the pillows were propping up his “old and in dire need of extra support” head, and so you were conveniently snuggled in at his side. “There,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “Ya good, princess?”

“Uh huh,” you answered hesitantly, and then looked over at Sam, who had the biggest grin on his face.

 _Told you so_ , he mouthed to you.

 _Shut up_ , you mouthed back.

“You two ‘bout done with your nerdy little secrets?” Dean asked without taking his eyes off the TV.

“Yeah,” Sam answered after draining the last of his beer. “Just tellin’ _________, that I’m gonna go to bed.”

 _Smooth_ , you mouthed to Sam.

 _The smoothest_ , he mouthed back with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes.

“Oh hey, before you skip out on the best part of the damn movie, can you hand me a beer?”

“Dean, they’re six inches from you,” Sam informed his brother.

“And he calls me princess,” you joked. Dean poked you in the ribs for your sarcasm.

Sam put the last two beers on the bed and mouthed _, Be good_.

“Oh, right, like anything’s gonna happen,” you accidentally said aloud. “I mean…”

“What nerd-fest are you two babbling about? ‘Cause I can tell you exactly what’s _gonna_ happen if you two don’t can-it.” Dean poked you in the ribs again to let you know he was clearly joking.

“’Night, guys.”

“’Night, Sammy. Enjoy your beauty sleep. Don’t forget to brush your hair.”

“’Night, Sam.” You looked over at him, to see him leaning against the door frame, looking at you, and his smile from seconds before, gone. You mouthed, _What’s wrong?_ But Sam just shook his head and walked out of your room.

“You gonna be alright without your partner in crime?” Dean asked while whipping your arm with one of his Red Vines to get your attention.

“I think I’ll manage,” you answered sarcastically and stole his Red Vine.

Dean grabbed another out of the bag next to him. “You guys seem like you’re always conspiring about something. You got the hots for Sammy?”

“Am I in bed with Sam right now?”

“Fair point.” Dean took a bite of his Red Vine and went back to watching _A New Hope_. When the credits rolled, he rolled over and faced you. “So, when you and Sam are up in the library, there’s no kanoodling going on?”

You chuckled. “I assure you, no _kanoodling_ between me and Sam.”

“So, what the hell do you two do up there?”

“Research. What else would we be doing in a library?”

Dean brushed the hair off the side of your face and leaned in to kiss you. “This.”

He tasted like Red Vines and beer, which was actually a hilarious combination when you thought about it, and kissing Dean felt good, it felt really good, but _off_ at the same time  _it just wasn’t right_. Thankfully, when yours and Dean’s mouths separated, the look on his face told you he was thinking the exact same thing.

Neither of you said anything, you just looked at each other. Then after a minute, Dean got up, put in _The Empire Strikes Back_ , laid back down on the bed, and pulled you back to him.

“This isn’t going to get weird, is it?” You asked carefully, worried everything you and Dean built was just ruined. You sat up next to Dean and looked at him, concerned.

Dean sat up as well. “The only thing that’s weird is that kiss.”

“So it was weird for you too?”

“I don’t wanna say kissing you was like kissing my sister, but… Kissing you was like kissing my sister. You’re the Leia to my Luke.”

“But _we_ aren’t going to get weird, are we, Dean?”

“Zero weirdness, Short Stack,” Dean assured you with a friendly smile, and you both went back to watching the movie - just side by side, not in each other’s arms. Later he asked, “You sure there’s nothing goin’ on with you and Sammy? You sure spend an awful lot of time together.”

You shrugged. “Always thought of _him_ as more of a brother.”

“Maybe you should think on it a little harder?”

“Maybe I should…”


	4. I See a Line of Cars and They're All Painted Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are some wounds that Sam can’t fix. He calls for help.  
> More flashbacks to _before_ , with fluffy and slightly smutty moments with Sam.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

Sam’s eyes pop open in the dark hotel room, and he groans softly as his dreams flash quickly behind his eyes. He dreamed of you struggling on the filthy bed, pleading for Dean to stop. He dreamed of your screams and your sobs, and he dreamed that his ropes were made of Kriptonite, and every time he struggled against them, they made him more and more weak.

He pushes the thoughts away and shifts in the bed next to you, but stops when he feels something sticky underneath his hand. Sam panics and turns on the lamp next to the bed to see the tips of his fingers are covered in your blood. Quickly, he throws the blankets and sheets off of the bed to see a puddle of blood on the sheets beneath you.

“_______, wake up, I have to get you to the hospital,” Sam says while shaking your shoulder. When you barely stir, he gets even more scared. For a second he doesn’t care if you don’t want to be touched; he doesn’t want you to bleed out and die, so he moves to scoop you up from the bed. He’s not at all prepared for what happens next.

“No! Stop! Dean, please, don’t!” You scream and blindly throw a right hook his way, and it hits Sam right in the cheek.

“It’s just me,” Sam gently assures you, while ignoring the throbbing of his face. “I have to bring you to the hospital, you’re still bleeding.”

You sit up on the bed and look at Sam. “No. No hospitals.”

“I can’t…I can’t fix you,” he says desperately. “You _need_ a doctor.”

You’re sobbing again. “You promised me if I said 'no,' you’d stop. No, Sam, I don’t want to go.”

“I think you need---“

“I said ' _NO_!' ”

Sam freezes.

You hold your head in your hands and force yourself to calm down. “The FBI has Dean’s DNA. They’ll do a ra--" You pause, and a fresh batch of tears pricks at your eyes. You haven't said _the word_ yet. "They'll do _tests_ , and they’ll know it was him, BUT IT WASN’T! He’s not coming out of this a fucking registered sex offender!”

“You took a bath, any evidence—"

“Dammit, Sam, I SAID ' _NO_!' ”

Sam blows out a breath and nods his head. “I’ll call Cas.”

“His grace is more fucked up than I am,” you answer dryly and lie back down on the bed. “He can’t help me.”

Sam pulls out his phone and punches in Cas’ number. “No, but Hannah can.”

“Hello?” Castiel’s deep voice comes through the phone into Sam’s ear.

“Cas, how quick can you get here, you and Hannah?” Sam’s words are rushed, and no sooner does his question come out of his mouth, Cas and Hannah are standing in the hotel room.

“What is wrong?” Cas asks Sam, and walks toward you and Sam on the bed. You immediately sit up and try to hide yourself behind Sam. Cas freezes.

“It’s ________, Dean… The Mark, it—"

“No, Sam, don’t tell him,” you interrupt in a hushed whisper.

Hannah slowly walks over to you, and you peek at her from behind Sam. “Can I sit by you?” She asks you carefully. You press yourself closer to Sam, but nod your head.

“We haven’t met before, I’m Hannah.” She introduces herself in a calm voice and with a soft smile.

“Hi,” you whisper and reach for Sam’s hand.

“If you let me, I can see what happened,” Hannah says with a careful voice.

You look up at Sam for reassurance and to see if it's safe, and, of course, he nods his head. “It’s okay. I’ll be right here.” Sam lightly squeezes your hand.

Looking back at Hannah, you nod your head and whisper, “Okay.”

It takes only a second for Hannah to see what happened the day before in that shack in the woods, and when she pulls her hand away from the side of your head, she has a sad look on her face, and she whispers, “I’m so sorry.”

Hannah’s slight touch gives you an odd sense of comfort, and when she takes her hand away from your face, you leave Sam’s side and lean into Hannah. Her vessel’s knowledge lets her know that after such a traumatic and excruciatingly painful event, you need to be comforted, so she holds you with both arms close to her chest and smoothens your tangled hair, while you cry softly.

“________,” Sam says gently, without touching you. “I’m going to go over there and talk to Cas, okay? I’ll be right over there.” He points to where Cas is standing.

“’Kay,” you murmur into Hannah’s gray blazer.

After Sam walks over to Cas, Hannah whispers, “Sam is right, you are wounded. I can heal you, but I’ll only do it if you agree.”

You don’t answer Hannah. You just continue to cry softly into her chest.

Sam opens his mouth to tell Cas everything, but then he remembers you asked him not to.

“I already know,” Cas says plainly. "I saw when Hannah saw. You are hurt as well.”

“I’m fine. Hannah can heal her right?”

“She can," Cas confirms.

“What about that thing you did to Lisa and Ben, when you wiped their memories?” Sam whispers. “Could she do that too?”

“NO!” You yell at Sam from across the room and move away from Hannah. You try to get up off the bed, to move away from the angel, but you stumble again, and Sam rushes over to catch you. You don’t fight him, but you look up at him with betrayal in your eyes. “You’d have them wipe my memories? Without even asking me?”

“No,” Sam insists while shaking his head. “I wouldn’t ever do that. I just...” He carefully sets you back down on the bed, next to Hannah, and when you sit on the mattress, you cry out at the pain.

“I can take the pain away,” Hannah offers again.

“No,” you snap harshly at her. “Don’t touch me.”

“I can heal your wounds, I can take the _physical_ pain away. If I don’t, you will need to go to a doctor, but I won’t do it unless you agree.”

Sam kneels on the floor in front of you. “You’re hurt, and you’re in pain. Please, let her do what I can’t.”

After sitting still and quiet for a minute, looking into Sam’s eyes, and you finally agree. “Okay. Just heal me. Don’t touch my memories,” you warn Hannah.

“I promise.” Hannah touches the side of your head, and Sam instantly sees the bruises from your face, your busted lips, and all the wounds visible to him, vanish before his eyes, even the blood stain on the bed is gone.

Once the physical pain is gone, your body is exhausted. You’re exhausted from everything that’s happened and exhausted from being in such pain for so long. You lay back down next to Hannah, with your head in her lap, and she goes back to carding your hair softly. “Thank you,” you whisper to her.

“You’re welcome. ______, would you like me to help you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’m going to switch places with Sam. Is that alright?” You nod your head and try to sit up, but Hannah stops you. “You don’t need to move. I’ll do it.”

With a fluid motion and the slight sound of rustling feathers, Sam’s lap is under your head, and Hannah is standing next to the both of you.

“Thank you,” Sam says to Hannah and Cas.

“I’m going to help you sleep now, okay?” Hannah crouches down next to the bed. After you nod your head, she touches your hair, and you fall into a deep sleep. Hannah stands back up. “You’re hurt as well, Sam - your shoulder.”

“I’m fine, really.”

Hannah purses her lips. She’s gone right before Sam’s eyes, but back in an instant with several bags in her hands. “Why are humans so stubborn?” She asks Castiel.

“I have been wondering that for several years, myself.” He says back to her.

Hannah takes a shoulder sling out of the bag, an in an instant, it’s wrapped around Sam’s right shoulder. She also sets down a stack of clean clothes for the both of you, a bottle of pain pills for Sam, and a bag of food. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, but thank you for coming.”

“Call if you need anything else.” Cas walks to Hannah’s side, and they’re both gone in a second.

Carefully, Sam reaches over and grabs the pain pills off the end table. He dry swallows one and leans his head back against the wall. He’s asleep in seconds.

*//*

The day after the awkward kiss with Dean, you and Sam were in the stacks again, and with a grin on his face, he asked you “So, how did last night go?”

“Not the way you’re thinking.” You elbowed Sam in the ribs.

“Really?” He asked, shocked.

“Nope. We watched _Empire_ and went to bed.”

“In your own beds?”

“God, yes, in our own beds.” You shook your head and laughed. “Hand me that book.”

Sam held the book you wanted high above your head. “Not until you tell me what happened.”

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “He kissed me and it was… _weird_. Honestly, we watched _Empire_ and went to bed. Seriously, that’s all.” _Unless you count the part where I was up all night thinking about you._

And you did spend the whole night thinking about Sam. Dean was right, you did spend an awful lot of time with him, you trusted him, and you were comfortable with him, but being alone in the stacks with him, was _different_.

“So, is there going to be a second date?”

You laughed. “Definitely not.”

“Are you being vague on purpose?” Sam’s tone changed, his arm fell from above his head, and he looked at you strangely.

“No. There just isn’t much to tell. Literally _nothing_ happened.”

“So you’re not with Dean?”                                

“Nope. I’m the Leia to his Luke.”

“Oh,” Sam said plainly, and then thought about what you had just said. “ _Oh_. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You looked up at him, puzzled. “Why?”

“Just makin’ sure. Isn’t that what friends do?”

You ignored his question. “If I say something to you, you promise you won’t get weirded out?”

“Promise,” Sam answered seriously.

“Dean said something to me… About you.” You felt your cheeks turn red, and you sunk down on the leather couch in the corner of the room.

Sam sat down next to you. “What did he say?”

“Okay, so, you know how I said before that we’re in our thirties, and that if we like someone we should just come out and say it?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, after the most awkward kiss in the history of the kisses that have ever been kissed, Dean said…” You paused to take a deep breath. “He said… Maybe I should think about you and me.” You shook you head. “But you said you didn’t like me, and—“

Sam cut you off with a kiss and immediately you almost pulled away, but there was something in Sam’s kiss that didn’t feel _Luke and Leia_ , it felt _Han and Leia_.

“Why did you do that?” You asked after the kiss ended.

“’Cause you’re wrong.” Sam smiled and brushed the hair away from your face.

“Then why did you set all that up with Dean?”

“I didn’t realize how I felt about you until I went to bed, and I was worried I figured it out too late.”

“Nope.” You smiled. “You figured it out before me.”

“So… Movie night, again, tonight?” Sam offered. “Just you and me?”

You kissed Sam again, just a soft but sweet kiss. “I get to pick the movie.”

“If I have to watch _Labyrinth_ again…”

“C’mon! Big maze? Muppets? David Bowie in spandex? What’s not to love?”

“Uh, _David Bowie in spandex_?”

“Too much? You can pick—"

Sam cut you off again and kissed you. His hands pulled you close to him, and you could feel his warmth through all his layers of clothing and your own, and his smell… You wondered how you never noticed the way he smelled before; slightly musky, with a hint of sweat and sandalwood.

As his hands roamed up your back and down your ass, you let him pull you onto his lap, and situate your knees around his hips. Sam’s mouth abandoned your lips and moved down your jaw to your neck, and then skated around the collar of your shirt.

“The one day you don’t wear a shirt with buttons…” Sam groaned into your cotton covered chest.

“You know…” You gently lifted Sam’s face so you could kiss him again. “There are ways to get shirts off without buttons.”

Sam groaned again and ran his hands down your back, under your shirt, then lifted it over your head. As his mouth sucked, licked, and nipped around the curves of your breasts, your hands twisted down to Sam’s chest and started to undo the snaps of his plaid shirt.

“At least _I_ was prepared,” Sam chuckled into your skin.

“You always wear shirts with buttons or snaps.” You finished with the snaps and pulled Sam’s shirt off, then looked at his two additional layers. “You’re like one of those Russian Babushka dolls.”

“I’m like a _what_?” Sam grinned while he unclasped your bra, then slid the straps down your shoulders.

You groaned when his teeth raked over the newly exposed skin. “Those dolls. You open one up, and you think you’re in, but then there’s five or six more dolls on the inside.”

Sam immediately pulled the rest of his layers off over his head and threw them to the floor. “Better?”

You ran your fingers over his chest and nodded your head. “Getting there.” The tips of your fingers pulled at the button of his jeans, then worked his strained zipper open.

Sam groaned a little sigh of relief at the sudden lack of confinement, then did the same thing to your button and zipper, but he laid you down on the couch so he could pull both his and your pants off. His mouth found yours again, then worked his way down your collarbone, over the points of each of your nipples, down the sensitive skin of your middle, and spent an agonizing amount of time kissing your hipbones and the creases of your thighs. Just when you opened your mouth to call him a tease, his tongue separated your wet folds. He groaned your taste, while you gasped at the sensation. His tongue never relented and moved with expert precision. It seemed like in just minutes you came with a muffled cry, and Sam wasted no time easing himself inside you.

He moved slowly at first, both to allow you to acclimate to his size, and so his mouth could take the time to explore your body, which you gave to him freely. His mouth kissed every part of your body he could reach, while your hands grabbed at the firm muscles of his back.

Gradually, the speed and the strength of his thrusts increased, and with only the vast multitude of the books in the library as your witnesses, Sam moved into you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again until your back arched, and you cried out his name as you came. Sam was milliseconds behind you, and his strong hands gripped your hips when he came with a gravelly groan.

You spent the night in Sam’s room that night, forgoing the previously discussed viewing of _Labyrinth_ , only to repeat the events in the library from earlier that day, but when morning came, you woke up to an empty bed. Quickly tiptoeing from Sam’s room to yours, you changed clothes, fixed your sex-mussed hair as best as possible, and began your search for Sam.

Just as you rounded the corner into the War Room, you could hear both Sam and Dean arguing, but as soon as Dean saw you, his words stopped. You saw the look he tossed Sam to let him know you were in the room. The brothers had always worked hard to keep most of the details of their cases a secret, but they’d never been as secretive as they had been those few weeks.

Dean set the stuff in his hands down and briskly walked past Sam to stand in front of you. “We gotta go, Short Stack. Don’t mess with the guns while I’m gone, you’ll put your eye out.” He patted your shoulder and turned to walk away, but you stopped him. Something on his face wasn’t quite right.

“What’s wrong? I know you guys never tell me anything, and I keep my mouth shut, but this is bad, isn’t it?”

Dean paused for a half of a second to look at you, and then walked away, tossing a quick, “I’ll tell you everything when we get back,” over his shoulder.

You looked to Sam. “What’s going on?”

Before that moment, Sam had always given you the highlights of the things they were working on, even when Dean told him not to, but for a while, even Sam had been tight-lipped with information.

“I’m sorry about this morning. I didn’t mean to just leave you like that. We just have—"

“I don’t mean that, Sam. It’s fine, but you hardly ever keep stuff from me like you have been. Why is this so different?”

Sam sighed and tossed his glance toward the direction Dean stalked off in. “It just is, _______.” He kissed you and said, “We’ll be back as soon as we can, okay?”

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” You asked, taking Sam’s hand and tracing his knuckles with your fingertips.

He pursed his lips and let out a breath through his nose. “We’ll be back soon.” Sam bent down and hugged you tightly. “Stay inside, okay? I’ll tell you everything when we get back.”

You kissed Sam and rubbed his cheekbones with your thumbs. “You two better come back in once piece.”

Sam didn’t say anything, he just nodded his head. Then the two of you heard Dean yell from somewhere in the bunker, “C’mon, Sammy, we got shit to do!”

“I gotta go. I’ll call you when we’re on our way back, okay?” Sam kissed you one more time before he let you go.      

“Kick some ass, Winchester,” you said to Sam's back as he walked out of the bunker, carrying his bags in his arms.

-

The first day Sam and Dean were gone, you paced the length of the bunker until your feet ached, then you paced some more. You hated not knowing what was going on.

In your time spent living in the bunker, you had learned a lot, but every time you took a new book off the shelf in the library, you discovered hundreds of things you didn’t have a clue about. Sure, you could have snooped, but there had been an unwritten rule that everyone’s bedrooms were off limits, and it was pretty much respected. You and Sam had a long standing agreement that one another could get books or movies from each other’s room, but Sam’s fiction books were kept separate from his non-fiction and lore books that he used for his personal research, and you never invaded his privacy. Dean’s room had the best snacks, and when you got a craving for something sweet or salty, his forth drawer of his dresser was the place to go, but once again, you never invaded his privacy.

Once, when you first came to live at the bunker, you caught Dean rummaging through your underwear drawer.

“Looking for something?” You asked with a grin, knowing you’d caught him.

Dean ripped his hand from your rainbow colored bras and underwear so fast, it was like he saw a python hiding in with them. “No,” he answered quickly and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“’Cause if you were.” You pulled out a pair of black, lacy thong underwear and dangled them from one finger in front of his face. “You’re not going to find anything in here… Unless you got a thing for wearing girls’ panties. Do you like black, or yellow, maybe pink?” You pulled out various colors and styles of underwear. “Wait, I know.” You smirked. “Green ones. Yes, they’ll match your eyes, and you’ll look real good for that special someone.”

“Alright, enough!” Dean yelled with his face slightly flushed and he slammed your dresser drawer shut. “Yes, I was lookin’ in your god dammed underwear drawer.”

“Can I ask why?”

“You share a wall with my little brother," he said innocently. Just want to keep him safe.”

“And I might keep my supposed monster secrets in with my thongs and g-strings?”

“One can never be too careful,” Dean added with a seriousness he couldn’t quite keep on his face. “We don’t know you that well.”

You didn't buy his seriousness or his innocence. “But you and Sam told me when I came here, that nothing monster-y could get in here. How would I get past that?”

Dean opened up his mouth to say something, but then snapped it back shut.

“That’s what I thought.” You smirked at him and opened up your drawer again. “Go nuts.”

After that, Dean pretty much stayed out of your room, unless you invited him in.

Sam and Dean were gone less than forty-eight hours when you finally snapped and barged into Dean’s room.

There was a stack of brown file folders, notebooks filled with notes in Dean’s hand writing, and dog-eared paged books on top of his dresser. Names like Abaddon, Cain, Metatron, and Cuthbert Sinclair, didn’t make any more sense to you than some of the other things you skimmed over: The Mark of Cain, The First Blade, something called an angel tablet, a demon tablet, and “the trials”, Knights of Hell, the list when on and on. The more you read, the more you were confused, but once you started down the rabbit hole, you couldn’t stop. One book had a picture of The Mark of Cain, and as soon as you saw it, everything started to fall into place.

A few days prior, Dean had his sleeves rolled up in the garage, and you noticed a smudge of something on the inside of his right arm. When Dean saw your eyes drift down to the smudge, he quickly pulled his sleeve down and started in on a conversation that drew your attention away. That “smudge” was exactly the same as the picture of The Mark of Cain and suddenly you were petrified for Sam and Dean.

You jumped when you heard someone come up behind you, and when you looked up from the mess of papers and books, you saw Sam with Dean bloody and limp in his arms.

Dean was dead.

Sam didn’t even seem to see you, he walked right passed you and laid Dean down on his bed. In complete shock, you watched with tears falling down your cheeks as Sam stared at his brother.

Hesitantly, you got up from the floor and moved to sit down by Dean, but Sam stopped you and shook his head. “He’s not dead. I’m going get someone to fix this.”

You opened your mouth to ask Sam how he was going to do that, but before you could, he walked out of Dean’s bedroom.

Shocked, devastated, and confused, you carefully sat down on Dean’s bed next to his body. You held his hand in yours and carefully touched the broken skin of his knuckles. On the inside of his forearm you saw The Mark and traced the brand-like mark with your fingertips.

“Sam says he’s going to get someone to fix this," you whispered to Dean's body. "I don’t know what that means, but if anyone can, it would be him, right?” You wiped the tears from your face and carefully put Dean’s hand back down on the bed. “I went through your stuff, and I'm sorry, but you only get to be mad at me if you come back. You better come back, Dean.”

-

After that, it seemed an unbelievable whirl-wind of events happened, and you and Sam were on the road.

For a while it seemed like Sam needed his space. He hardly talked to you, and only looked at you when he had to, spending most of his time in front of his laptop. And not that you blamed him, because you didn’t, it was obvious from your very first day at the Bunker that Dean was the most important person to Sam and Sam was the most important person to Dean. They had their fair share of arguments, but who didn’t?

For the most part, while you and Sam were on the road looking for Dean or what you then thought was a demon inside Dean, you made sure Sam always had plenty of coffee, food, (which he hardly ever ate) and you just tried to do what you could for him without being in his way.

There were weeks that flew by where Sam never kissed you or hugged you, hell, there were days that he didn’t even acknowledge you, but you didn’t let it bother you. Sam was hell bent on finding his brother, and you were hell bent on doing anything you could to help Sam.

One night, in Ohio, you woke up to Sam having a nightmare. He was in the opposite bed, tossing and turning, practically sobbing into his pillow, when you got up and carefully woke him.

“Sam, it’s okay. You’re having a nightmare.” You sat down next to him and rubbed his shoulder softly.

“______?” Sam murmured, still half asleep.

“Yeah, it’s me. Just go back to sleep.” You tucked a stray piece of hair behind his ear and gently touched his face. “You’re okay.”

Sam looked up at you in the dark and wiped his face. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“For what? You didn’t do anything.”

He moved over on his bed and pushed the blankets down. “C’mere.” You climbed into bed next to him, into his arms that he held out for you. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“Yes, you should have. It’s okay. You’re doing all the things that you’re doing to find Dean. I understand. Go back to sleep. It’s okay.”

Sam let out a sigh, kissed you, then he covered you with the blankets.

Sam only paid for single bed motel rooms after that night.

Shortly thereafter, Sam got a bead on Dean in Montana, but once you got there, Dean was nowhere to be found. Sam got a room, to rethink his strategy and gather his intel, with the promise that you’d hit the road the next morning.

Out of a dead sleep you woke up to Sam carding his fingers through your hair.

“Hi,” you whispered to him in the dark.

“Hey.”

“Everything all ri---"

But Sam cut you off by rolling over on top of you and kissing you. He moved so quickly and flung both your shirts and underwear across the room. “I’m sorry,” he groaned while sucking on your neck.

“Don’t be,” you moaned.

“I don’t mean to.” Sam kissed down your chest and swirled his tongue around one of your nipples.

“I know,” you whispered and reached down to take his cock in your hand.

Sam practically growled into your skin at your touch and moved his hips in time with the pumps of your hand. “I just need…”

“Whatever you need, Sam. I’m right here.”

No sooner did the words escape your lips, did Sam flip both you and him over, so you were straddling him. One hand held tight to your hip, while the other one slid between your legs and rubbed your clit. You moved against Sam’s hand, breathing heavily and moaning, while you used both hands to work over his hardness throbbing in front of you. You whined when he stole his hand away and brought it to your other hip, but when he lifted you up and eased you down over him, your whine turned into a deep moan.

In the darkness of the motel room, you rolled your hips over Sam, feeling him stretch you from the inside out, while his huge hands guided your movements and hinted to increase your speed. You did what he silently asked and rode him hard and fast until you both came with moans that drowned out the squeaking springs of the old and saggy mattress underneath you.

The next morning you and Sam were back on the road, Sam’s intel led you to a tiny town where he thought Dean was hiding out. Sam found a secluded cabin in the woods, that could only be reached by foot, and for a couple days both of you thought you were safe. Until Dean somehow got inside, then everything went dark.

When you woke up, you were tied up by a long rope attached to a beam high above your head, with a jet black-eyed Dean standing right in front of you.


	5. Black as Night, Black as Coal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your physical wounds are gone, but it’s the mental ones that are taking their time to heal, and their fragile scabs are about to be torn wide open.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

Another Gas ‘n Sip, another day, and you and Sam are back in Montana.

Sam’s outside filling the truck’s gas tank, and you’re inside the convenience store getting coffee, bottles of water, and road food. As you catch your reflection in the glass door of the store’s cooler, you see your eyes are blood shot and the skin underneath them is very dark. It’s been four nights since Hannah and Cas came to the hotel room and healed your wounds, but you still feel as exhausted and fragile as _that_ night.

After putting a handful of cheese sticks and a pair of apples in your basket, you let the cooler door close, and walk toward the check-out counter.

“You got gas out there too?” The man behind the counter asks with a kind smile.

“Yeah, the orange Ford.”

“That’ll be $41.33.”

You pull the fifty dollar bill out of your pocket that Sam gave you and hand it to the man. He makes your change and moves to give it back to you.

“Eight dollars.” He sets the cash in your hand. “And sixty-seven cents is your change.” Then carefully puts the change in your hand, on top of the cash. “Have a good day, sweetheart.”

 _Oh, but I am, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you raw, and you'll love it, I promise._ The bills and the change fall from your hand and hit the counter. The pennies, dimes, and quarters spin and clang on the glass lottery ticket covered counter top, and you stumble backward. Your foot gets caught in the newspaper stand, and you hit the floor.

The man behind the counter rushes around to help you up from the floor, but you push him away.

“NO! Don’t! Please, no! SAM!” You yell, and try to scuttle away, but your foot is still stuck in the newspaper stand.

“Easy,” the man says in a gentle tone. “I’m not going to hurt you.

 _I promise, I won’t hurt you. Unless you ask me to._ More of Dean’s words echo in your head.

“Let’s just get you up from the floor.” The Gas ‘n Sip gas station attendee tries get your foot out of the metal stand, and it throws you into your panic even further.

“Stop! Please, don’t! SAM!”

At that moment, Sam comes in the store and hears you scream for him. “Get away from her!” Sam growls at the cashier, who backs away slowly with his hands up. “What the hell did you do?” Sam untwists your foot from the newspaper stand and squats down next to you.

“Nothing. I went to give her the change, and she backed away. Got her foot stuck in the thing and went down. I was just tryin’ to---"

But Sam’s not listening to him. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says in a gentle tone. “I’m here. Shhh. I’m right here.”

The confused cashier gathers up the dropped change and tries to give it to Sam. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I didn’t mean—"

Sam ignores him, scoops you up off the floor, pushes aside the pain in his shoulder, and carries you out of the store.

Once you’re in the safety of the truck, you scramble out of Sam’s arms and curl up in a ball on the seat. After Sam runs around the front of the truck and climbs inside, he tries to reach for you, but you flinch at him.

“Don’t," you whimper into your knees.

“I won’t. It’s okay.” Sam slowly brings his hands up to the steering wheel and lets out a breath.

An impatient driver, needing gas, lays on the horn behind the truck, and both you and Sam flinch at the loud, high-pitched noise. Sam lets an annoyed growl mixed with a sigh, puts the truck in drive, and starts to drive away, but stops when there’s a light tap on the side of the truck. Sam looks in the rearview mirror and sees the cashier man putting two plastic bags in the back of the truck. Sam gives him a half smile and a small wave, then drives away.

“How long until we stop?” You ask after watching two hours’ worth of road fly by through the window.

“Was just gonna drive straight through, but if you need to stop, we can get a room.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s fine. Can I…uhm…can I lay down?”

Sam follows your gaze to the middle of the seat. “Of course you can.” He bunches up his jacket next to him, and you lay down across the bench seat. “Do you need some water? I can pull over and get the stuff from the back of the truck?”

“No, just tired.”

“I’ll stop at the next motel, okay?”

“Gotta find Dean,” you murmur sleepily.

“We will.” Sam lightly touches your hair. “We will.”

-

“_______? It’s Sam, it’s just me. Can you wake up?”

“Sam?” You ask as your eyes flutter open.

“Yeah, it’s me. I just pulled into a motel. Do you want to come inside with me while I pay for the room, or do you want to wait in here?”

You sit up in the truck and rub your eyes. “Come with.” After Sam steps out of the truck, you climb out after him, and he starts to walk toward the motel office, but you grab his hand. “Wait.”

Sam turns around with a questioning look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you whisper and look down at his hand in your hands. “I just…” You trace your pointer finger over his knuckles. “I just needed to touch you.”

“That’s okay.” Sam dares to gently rub his thumb over your fingers. “Should we go get the room, and then maybe get you something to eat? Then you can sleep, alright?” You nod your head, and Sam leads the way into the office.

The woman behind the counter looks nice enough, but you still don’t make eye contact with her. Sam needed his hand to fill out the motel paperwork and to get his wallet out of his pocket, so you’ve been hanging on to the hem of his shirt, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“All I got left is a single king. You still want it?” The woman behind the counter asks after Sam tells her he’d like a double queen room.

Sam looks at you, silently asking if one bed is okay. “S’fine, Sam,” you whisper.

“You look ‘bout as scared as a little bird, dollface. With your big protector, ain’t no one gonna hurt you,” the motel clerk lady says with a raspy voice as she puffs on her Capri 120.

“J-just tired,” you whisper again. “Long ride.”

“I’ll bet,” she answers with a knowing and innuendo-filled smirk, looking up and down at Sam's broad frame. Sam clears his throat loudly when he sees the smirk and pushes the signed paper toward the woman. “Room eight. Go back outside, and it’s down on the right. Can’t miss it.” She slides the brass looking key across the counter top.

“Thanks,” Sam says curtly and gives the woman a tight smile, then he looks down to you with soft eyes. “Ready?”

“Yeah.”

You hang on to his arm and hold his hand as he walks you down the cracked and broken sidewalk to the right of the motel office. Sam opens the room, checks it out, and leads you to a chair.

“I’m going to be right back. Just going to drive the truck up to the door.” He points to the truck through the streaked and smudged window. “You’ll be able to see me the whole time, okay? Five minutes.”

“Okay. Five minutes.”

Curled up in your chair, you watch Sam jog across the parking lot, jump up into the truck, and drive it up to the door. He comes back into the room just a couple minutes later with his backpack, your backpack, and the weapons bag. “I’m just gonna grab the bags out of the back of the truck, so we can have something to eat. Two more minutes.”

You nod your head and watch Sam go back out to the truck. You’re feeling a little cold, so you get up from your chair and start to dig in Sam’s bag for a sweatshirt. When you look up, you notice Sam left the door open just a crack, and through it you can hear a man talking. For a half second you think about closing the door and just waiting for Sam to come back, but then you hear a scuffle and Sam yelp.

Your first instinct is to hide, petrified that it might be Dean, but then you remember Dean’s dark promise. With pitch black eyes, Dean swore to you if he caught you and Sam following him again, he’d repeat that night’s horrible events, then he’d kill Sam, and make you watch. Fearing for Sam’s life, somehow you find courage inside yourself, pushed deep, deep down below the fear and the pain, and you reach into the weapons bag for the first gun your fingers touch.

Slowly you open the door, keeping yourself as low to the ground as possible, you take a hesitant step out of the motel room, and the first thing you see is a man trying to shove Sam, whose face is covered with a hood, into the back of a Jeep. On quiet feet, just like the _real_ Dean taught you all those months ago, you sneak up behind the man and barely touch the back of his head with the barrel of the shotgun.

“Let him go,” you say calmly.

The man takes his hands off of Sam and holds them up, then turns his head slowly. “Aren’t you a pretty little girlie? I just need to borrow your boyfriend, here. Once I find his brother, you’ll get him right back.”

“I don’t think so. Get up.” Out of the corner of your eye you see Sam struggle on the ground, trying to get out of the cuffs wrapped around his wrists.

The man stands up and faces you, his hands still in the air. “No need to pull out the big guns. I’m Cole, and I’m just lookin’ for Sam’s brother. So let me borrow your boyfriend, here,” Cole takes a step forward. “And we can all go home. Safe and sound.”

“No. Two choices: you get in your jeep and be on your way, or I blow your head off. Because I gotta tell you, I’ve had a shitty fucking week, and I _will_ kill you.”

Cole laughs, “Awe darlin’, you don’t look like you’re in any fit shape to kill anyone. Look at you, you can hardly hold that gun up, and you look exhausted. Just go on back into your room, and we’ll pretend like nothin' ever happened.”

You cock the gun, remembering this exact maneuver Dean taught you, and Sam flinches on the ground, not knowing who has the gun. “I said…” You quickly point the gun down to shoot Cole in the knee, and when he reacts, just like you knew he would, you swing the gun around and hit him in the face with the solid butt of the gun, which makes him fall to one knee on the ground. “Get in your Jeep and go, or I _will_ kill you.”

Cole spits a mouthful of blood onto the ground and looks up at you. “You win this round, girlie, but next time, it’ll just be me and Sam.” He gets up, backs away with his hands in the air, and gets into the driver’s seat of his Jeep. Once he’s driving down the highway, you reach down and pull the hood off of Sam.

With Sam still in the cuffs, his shoulder bent back at a painful angle, you carefully help him up from the ground and quickly walk him back into the motel room.

Adrenaline trumps the fear that’s been flowing through your veins for the last five days, and you easily pick the lock on the handcuffs with a stray paperclip. When Sam’s hands are free, you robotically dig in a backpack on the floor for the first aid kit and start to clean the cut on Sam’s face, but he stops you.

“Wait, wait. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but you’re hurt. Just let me clean these up, okay?”

Sam hesitantly nods his head and lets you clean up the cuts on his face.

When you’re done you toss the bloody gauze in the trash and put the first aid kit away. “How’s your shoulder?”

“Sore, but I’ll live. You did really good back there.” Sam grins up at you. “Really good. I mean, I didn’t see it, but whatever you did, it worked.”

“Made him think I was gonna blow out his knee, then hit him in the face with the butt of the shotgun: he fell for it.” You shrug. “Do you know who he was?”

Sam shakes his head. “No idea. Musta thought I could lead him to Dean.”

“Wonderful,” you say sarcastically, and then pause at the realization that Sam could have been taken away from you. “Sam?”

“Hmmm?”

“What would I have done if he would have taken you?” As the question comes out of your mouth, the adrenaline starts to fade, and the fear creeps back.

Sam sees the change in your face and slides up next to you. “That’s not gonna happen. I’m right here.”

“But what happens if… If we _do_ get separated?” You stare at your fidgeting hands. “You have the key to the bunker…”

Slowly, Sam reaches for your chin and barely touches you. When he sees that you don’t jump away from him, he gently tilts your chin up so you’re looking at him. “You did good back there. You can handle anything, but if something happens to me, which it won’t, but if it does, there’s cash in the weapons bags and cards if you need them. I’d find you, I swear I would, but it’s not gonna happen. I promise.” When you nod your head, Sam takes a chance and runs his thumb over your cheek. “I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you again, I swear it.”

“I know,” you whisper.

When Sam moves to take his hand away from your face, you stop him and run your fingers over the bruises on his wrists. “Do they still hurt?”

“No.” He says softly. “I’m alright.”

Once again, tears prick at your eyes, and you kiss the palm of his hand, then the bruises, making sure your kisses are soft because you know, despite what Sam just said, they’re still sore. He wipes the tears that fall down your cheeks, and surprising both yourself and Sam, you lean up slightly and kiss him.

His lips are soft when he returns your kisses, and when you gently drag your tongue over his top lip, he lets out a sigh and opens his mouth for you. Leaning closer to Sam, you press yourself against his chest and allow yourself to breathe in his musky scent, and taste his lips. Wary of your sudden bravery, Sam lets you take the lead, and he copies only what you do to him, nothing more. Wrapping your arms around Sam’s neck to get even closer to him, you feel his thumb and fingertips of the hand not in his sling, gently rubbing your shoulder.

Sam doesn’t do anything in particular; he doesn’t move wrong, he doesn’t do something you don’t want to do, he doesn’t do anything, but still, a flicker of what happened back in the shack shows in your mind’s eye, and you abruptly pull away from Sam.

“I can’t.” You shake your head, and the tears come back.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—“

“No. You didn’t do anything. It’s me. I’m all… I’m all messed up. I just… I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Hey, listen to me,” Sam says gently, but something tells him not to touch you right now. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, and you’re not messed up. You just need time, and that’s okay. I’m right here.”

“I just need it to be over. I need _him_ gone. I feel like he’s watching me. He knew about Ohio and when we were here in Montana before, Sam. He was watching us. I just need _him_ gone. We have to fix him.”

“I promise you, I will.”

You wipe your face and look up at Sam. “Can we go to bed? I’m so tired.”

He gives you a gentle half-smile. “Me too.”

Sam changes in the main room on the motel and not in the bathroom because he knows you don’t like to not be able to see him. He politely averts his eyes while you change, and then you both climb into the king size bed.

He’s pleasantly shocked when you snuggle into his chest and makes it a point not to wrap his arm around you. He just rests his arm on the bed and lets his thumb barely touch the fabric of his own shirt you’re wearing.

“G’night,” Sam whispers in the dark and gently kisses the top of your head, but you’re already asleep.

*//*

It’s not quite five AM when Sam’s eyes pop open, and immediately he knows something’s not right. The bed is empty, and the room is dark: he can’t see you.

Cautiously, he clicks on the lamp on the bedside table, while reaching his hand under his pillow and wrapping his hand around his gun.

“_______,” Sam whispers in the room, as his eyes scan the kitchenette table and chairs, but you’re not there. He sees that the salt line in front of the door isn’t broken, so he knows you didn’t leave. Also, there’s no light coming through the bottom of the closed bathroom door, so he assumes you’re not in there.

Now Sam’s panicking: you’re not in bed, you’re not sitting up in the chair, and you’re not in the bathroom. He stands up from the bed and starts to walk across the room, when he hears the tiniest of whimpers behind him. Slowly, he turns around and sees you huddled under the wooden hangers in the tiny closet in the corner of the motel room.

Trying to keep himself looking as non-threatening as possible, Sam makes his way over to you, but freezes in his tracks when he sees you jump and press yourself further into the corner of the closet.

Like he’s done this a thousand times, Sam very slowly sets the gun down on the dresser and holds his hands up to show you he doesn’t have anything that could hurt you, then he sits down on the floor a couple feet from you.

“It’s just me.” You flinch at his soft words and bury your face in your knees that are pulled tightly to your chest. “It’s just me,” he repeats calmly. “It’s Sam. Did you have a nightmare?”

“No,” you barely whisper and try to pull you knees closer to you.

“Alright. Can you tell me what happened?”

“You rolled over and—" but your words are cut off when you start to sob.

Just as you say it, Sam remembers exactly what he did. He was half asleep and felt you warm and soft next to him, so he rolled over and wrapped his arm around you. “I’m sorry, _______. I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” you choke out through a sob. “I just woke up, and I couldn’t… I thought I was back _there_ , and I couldn’t…”

“I’m so sorry.” Sam reaches behind him, pulls the sheet off the bed, and slowly leans forward to cover you with it, but when he hears you squeak at his movement, he stops. “You’re safe,” he assures you. “Nothing’s going to happen. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, okay?”

“I know. I’m sorry, Sam,” you whisper with a shaky voice.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, ______. You didn’t—" but Sam’s sentence is cut off when you vault up off the floor and dive into his lap. He grunts a little bit at the sudden pressure on his shoulder, but gently touches the back of your head when you cry into his chest. “It’s okay. You’re okay. I’m right here.” He wraps the sheet around you and kisses the top of your head. “You’re safe. I won’t ever let anything bad happen to you again, I promise.”

After you calm down a little bit, and your sobs subside, you whisper, “I miss him.”

“I know. I do too.”

“You can fix him, right? You can make it go away… The thing with The Trials? Curing a demon?”

“I hope so.”

“But not with your blood, right?”

“You really did read a lot while we were gone, huh?” Sam snickers just a little bit.

“Yeah. I couldn’t help it.”

“It’s okay. I’m glad you know. Do you… You know… Have any questions?”

“The Mark, it took Dean over when he died, and now he’s a demon?”

“Yeah, but I’ll fix it.”

“I told him he couldn’t be mad at me for digging through his stuff.”

Sam kisses the top of your head. “He could never be mad at you.”

“Do you think he’ll remember?”

Sam sighs. “I don’t know.”

“He will. I know he will. He won’t be able to look at me.” You start to cry again.

“Hey, it’s alright.” Sam kisses the top of your head again. “Dean loves you, nothing’ll change that. You’re gonna get through this. I’ll be right there with you.”

You both sit in silence for a while, picturing Dean back at the bunker and how it might go back to normal. Then, finally you whisper, “Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m so tired.”

“Should we go back to bed?”

“Yeah. M’cold.”

Sam helps you up from the floor and watches you climb back into bed. “Do you want me to sleep in the chair? I can if you want.”

“No. Come to bed, please?”

He lays down next to you and is careful not to touch you, but you inch your way across the king-sized mattress and rest your head on Sam’s chest.

*//*

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed and sit up in a panic, but see Sam sitting in a chair and on the phone. He’s talking to someone in hushed whispers for a few minutes, then shoves his phone in his pocket.

“I found him.”

“Where?” You jump up out of bed and start to pull on your clothes. “Is he close?”

Sam frowns and looks at his hands for a minute. “I don’t think you should come with me.”

You freeze with your jeans halfway up your thighs. “Why?”

After letting out a heavy sigh, he runs his fingers through his hair. “I just… I just think if things go south, you shouldn’t be there. If I can’t keep you safe, I don’t know what he’ll do…”

“No. I’m coming with.” You yank your jeans up and button them, then pull a shirt over your head. “I don’t care. I’m coming with you.”

“I could call Cas and Hannah, they could take you back to The Bunker. I don’t think—"

“I’m coming with you,” you interrupt Sam and start shoving things back in your bag. “I don’t care. I’ve come this far with you, I’m coming with. And don’t even think about suggesting that you dump me off at some coffee shop while you’re gone, because it’s not happening.”

A small grin works itself on Sam’s face. “You’ve been with me for too long, haven’t you?”

“Nope.” You return his grin with an actual grin of your own. “I just know how you think. You’re gonna bring him back, and you’re gonna fix him. I know you will.”

“Alright, fine.” Sam holds his hands up in a mock surrender, the grin still on his face. “But you’re stayin’ in the truck. You’re not going inside.” When you open your mouth to protest, he cuts you off, and his grin fades. “I don’t know what he’s gonna do, but I know he isn’t gonna come easily. I can’t worry about keeping you safe when I’m in there. I just have to do it, okay? Don’t fight me on this, please.”

“Fine.” You sigh. “I’ll stay in the truck.”

-

A few hours later, Sam parks the truck in front of The Flamingo Lounge.

“Okay,” Sam starts. “ _Stay_ in the truck. Don’t get out for anything, and if I’m not back in a half an hour, you leave, you hear me?” Sam puts the keys in your hand and slowly reaches up to touch your face: you don’t flinch away. “You drive as far away as you can, and you call Cas. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me.” You reach your face up and kiss Sam. “If anyone can do this, it’s you. You’re gonna do this. I know you will.”

Sam promised himself that he wouldn’t initiate anything, but he can’t help himself, and with his good hand, he pulls you to him and kisses you.

You squeak just a little bit against Sam’s lips, but then repeat Sam’s words in your head, _I won’t do anything you don’t want to do,_ and you kiss him back. You slide your tongue over the little bump in the center of Sam’s top lip, and he immediately opens his mouth for you. He groans against your lips when your tongue touches his, but he kisses you as softly as he can, while trying to convey every single one of his feelings for you.

“Okay,” he breathes against your lips after he ends the kiss. “Stay in the truck.” He kisses you softly once more. “I’ll come get you when I have him, okay?”

You nod your head and steal another kiss. “I’ll stay in the truck. Be careful.”

Sam grabs a gun and a flask of holy water out of the bag on the floor and puts them in your hands. “Thirty minutes, alright? And if I’m not back, you drive as fast as you can in the opposite direction.”

“Thirty minutes. Opposite direction. Call Cas. Got it, but don’t worry about me when you’re in there. You need to focus. Like you said, he’s not going to come easily, and Dean can fight, he’s gonna be like an ultra-mega black belt now, but you can do this. I know you can.”

After nodding his head and pursing his lips, Sam gets out of the truck and closes the door behind him. “Lock the—“ but you’re already pushing down the lock button on the driver’s side door. “Stay in the truck.”

“I will.”

Through the window of the truck, you watch Sam walk up to the door of The Flamingo Lounge. Once he’s inside, you wrap yourself up in his jacket and lean your head against the back of the seat, trying to make yourself calm down. However, your nerves and your brain have other ideas, and you go back to that night in the shack.

_“Go on, grab it,” Dean urged you with his whiskey rough voice when he saw you eye The First Blade next to your head. “Go on, kiddo,” he told you again when you wrapped your shaky hand wrapped around the bone handle. “But I have to warn you, anything you do to me, you’ll be doin’ it to Dean too, and I know you don’t wanna hurt your precious Dean. He’s the Luke to your Leia. Though, I don’t think Luke and Leia did this, now did they?”_

_A sob bubbled from your lips, and you let go of The First Blade._

_With a vicious and predatory grin on his face, Dean reached up and grabbed both your wrists with one of his hands, and pinned them above your head. “That’s what I thought.”_

You shake your head and wrap Sam’s jacket around you tighter, trying anything to get rid of the horrific thoughts in your head, but another one comes back.

_“Look at you, Short Stack. Layin’ below me just like that day when I tickled you until you couldn’t stand it anymore. What did you say I won that day, huh, sweetheart? What did you say was my prize?”_

_You turned your face away and squeezed your eyes shut, your prayers screaming in your head for everything to be over._

_“Don’t you remember, baby?” Dean brushed his lips against yours as he thrust into you painfully. “Oh, I remember. You promised me everything, and now, I get to have it. I get to have everything, but you know what’s even better?” Dean leaned into you, so his face was in yours. “Sammy gets to watch.”_

“NO!” You scream as your press your hands into your face and wipe your tears away. “No,” you whisper to the interior of the truck. “No.” You bury your face into Sam’s jacket and breathe in a deep lungful of his scent, forcing yourself to calm down.

A knock on the glass of the driver’s side door makes you jump and press yourself into the passenger side door. When you look up, you see it’s Sam, and you slowly inch yourself back across the bench seat.

“It’s okay,” a slightly bruised and weary looking Sam says through the door. “I got him.”

After you lift the lock on the door, Sam opens it and extends his hand to you, but you don’t take it right away, your eyes look around the parking lot. “Where is he?”

“In the Impala. I got the cuffs on him. He can’t hurt you.”

Hesitantly, you reach for Sam’s hand and let him help you out of the truck. Once you’re standing by him, he reaches for the bags on the floor, hefts them over his shoulder, and leads you to the back of the lounge and to the front of the Impala.

“Oh, Sweetheart,” Dean groans through the back door of the Impala, but you don’t hear the rest of what he says because Sam pulls you close.

“Don’t listen to him. It’s okay. I’m right here.”

After Sam puts the bags in the trunk of the Impala, a man in a black suit with a salt and pepper beard walks up.

“Well, who is this darling little thing you’ve got with you, Moose?”

“Shut up,” Sam growls, and you press yourself closer to Sam’s back.

“She looks about as scared as a---“

“I said shut the fuck up!”

The man sighs. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Sam pulls The First Blade out of the inside pocket of his jacket, and you flinch at the sight of it, but you don’t move. “What are you going to do with it?” Sam asks the man, who you’re now very sure is a Crowley, The King of Hell, you’ve heard Sam and Dean talk about in the past.

“Toss it into a volcano, leave it on the moon. I’ll get creative. Believe me, I don’t want Dean getting his hands on _the precious_ any more than you do. Your brother knows I ratted… He tends to hold a grudge. I don’t want to get… _boned_.”

You watch as Sam hands The First Blade over to Crowley. “This doesn’t make us square. If I see you again…”

“Oh, stop it, Samantha. No one likes a tease.”

You follow Sam as he backs away from Crowley and watch as The King of Hell and Dean share a death stare through the windshield of the Impala.

Sam opens the driver’s side door, and you hesitate before sliding inside. Tears well in your eyes, your skin crawls, and you have this urge to run far away, but you don’t, you just look up at Sam.

“It’s okay. He can’t—“

“C’mon in, Short Stack. I’ve missed you,” Dean says in that whiskey-rough voice that’s plagued your nightmares for several nights now.

“It okay,” Sam starts again. “He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him.”

Sam slides in right behind you, and you press yourself as close as you can to him, wishing he could wrap his arm around you, but knowing he can’t because of the sling.

As Sam drives the Impala out of the parking lot, Dean shifts in the back seat, and you jump. He laughs darkly. “Sammy’s right ya’know. I can’t hurt you, not with these shiny bracelets on my wrists. So, why don’t you come on back here with me. The cuffs are tight, but I think we can make it work.”

“Shut up,” Sam barks at his brother.

“Jeez, touchy.” Dean chuckles to himself. “So, baby girl, I’ve thought about you a lot over these past few days. Have you thought about me?”

Even though you fight it, a shudder works it’s way through your body, and Dean notices it.

“C’mon, not even a little bit? ‘Cause I gotta tell you, sweetheart, I’ve sure been thinkin’ about you.” Dean cranes his neck down and takes a deep breath against the collar of his jacket. “Haven’t washed it since that night. Still smells like you.”

“Shut your God dammed mouth, or I will fucking gag you!” Sam yells while clenching the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turn white, but Dean doesn’t listen.

“So you didn’t miss me, hmmmm?” Dean ignores his brother. “That really hurts me, baby. Oh, but it hurts in the _good_ way.” Dean leans as far forward in the seat as he can and whispers in your ear. “And I kinda like it.”

Sam opens his mouth to yell at his brother again, but you put your hand on his knee and whisper, “It’s okay. You’re right here, he can’t hurt me anymore.” You can hear Dean chuckling to himself, but you ignore him and reach forward to grab all the garbage on the dash and the floor of the Impala and shove it into a white plastic bag.

“Look at you, gettin’ all domestic.” Dean laughs. “I gotta ask just one more question. Have you jumped back on the horse since I last saw you? Or are you a little gun shy after you went a few rounds with me?”

Desperate for Dean to shut his mouth, for his filthy words to stop, you fling your arm back with the silver flask Sam handed you earlier, and soak Dean in holy water. You turn around and face him. “Shut your fucking mouth!”

While Dean winces and growls his way through the burning pain of the holy water, you tie the plastic bag filled with the Impala’s trash, throw it on the floor and lay down on the seat, resting your head in Sam’s lap.

For a while Dean does keep his mouth shut, but after about ten minutes of only the sound of rubber flying over tar and the purr of the Impala’s engine, Dean starts back up.

“Sammy and ______ sittin’ in a tree F-U-C-K-I-N-G…”

You roll over and bury your face into Sam’s side and feel his thumb gently rub the top of your head.

“It’s okay,” Sam whispers. “We’ll be home soon.”


	6. I Look Inside Myself and See My Heart is Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just a _friendly_ game of cat and mouse back at the bunker.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

7B

You and Sam stand outside the door, and just for a second you both stare at the brass number and letter affixed to the front of the door. Sam holds the cooler of blessed blood in his hand, and turns to look back at you.

“Are you sure you wanna watch this?”

“No.”

This is the last thing you want to do; the car ride with Dean was difficult enough. Going another round with Demon Dean and his sarcastic and innuendo-filled quips is really the last thing you want to do.

“Do you want to go back to my room? You can put down salt, and I can draw a devil’s trap on the floor, you’ll be safe there in case anything… You know… Goes south.”

“I’m not sure that’s comforting.”

Sam snorts. “No, I guess it’s not.”

“Let’s just get this over with. You need it to be done, I need it to be done, Dean needs… Sam, it just needs to be over.”

Sam gently touches the side of your face. “You know I won’t let him hurt you again, right?”

“I know.”

“Okay, stay close to me and don’t step inside the devil’s trap. He’s pissed off, and I’m sure you’re going to get more of what he gave you in the car, but that’s not Dean, alright? I’ll do this as quickly as I can. Just… Just don’t talk to him; don’t bait him. I know it’s going to be difficult, but just try to keep quiet okay?”

He kisses you softly, then turns around and opens the door labeled 7B. Through the metal shelves, you both walk into the hidden room, and the first thing you see is Dean.

Dean lifts his head up from his chest and looks directly at you. A wicked little smile twists itself on his lips. “Looks like someone went back on their promise, Short Stack.”

Not that you could ignore Sam’s request for you to be quiet, because of the sudden onslaught of fear, and when Dean talks to you, you don’t say anything, but you do, however, jump when Sam sets the St. Agatha’s cooler down on the metal table.

Dean senses your fear, sees your little jump, and he snickers. “Now, I haven’t caught up on my Dr. Sexy these past few weeks, but I remember this one episode where Dr. Piccolo says that bad shit can happen if ya use the wrong blood type, but you’re a smart one, Sammy, I’m sure you and Short Stack, here, got my blood type. She wouldn’t want anything to happen to her precious Dean.”

You open your mouth to tell Dean to shut up, but Sam catches your eyes with his and shakes his head. A silent, _don’t; he’s just gonna mess with your head,_ is exchanged, and you snap your mouth shut.

Dean’s sadistic grin widens. “Sammy, I know you and ______, think you’re gonna try and save me, but did you ever stop and think that maybe I don’t want to be fixed? Just let me go and live my life, I won’t bother you… Well, not, you, Sammy, but _______, she went back on her word, and I can’t promise that I won’t come after her; not now.

“You won’t touch her again,” Sam says calmly, then his English changes to Latin when he starts to sprinkle the holy water on the floor to consecrate the ground.

“Sammy, you really think I’m gonna just sit here and get all teary eyed like Crowley did? I don’t want this, what I _want_ is… Well, I’m fairly certain you know what I want.” Dean winks at you, and you shudder.

“You’ve made it clear pretty clear what you want,” Sam says as he pops the top off the first syringe. “It’s not gonna happen, so buckle up.”

“Short Stack, you know I hate shots. You wanna hold my hand?”

Just as Sam walks up to Dean to do the first injections, Dean’s eyes flick black and an actual roar comes out of his mouth. Your first instinct is to run, but you fight it. However, your feet don’t seem to get the entire message because they back you away from Dean, and you trip and stumble back into the wire caging of the room. When you look up, you see Sam splash holy water on Dean’s face, and then stab the first blood-filled syringe into Dean’s arm.

Sam backs away from Dean. “We got a whole bunch more of these to go, you can make it a whole lot easier on yourself.”

Dean tosses Sam an evil glare, but you watch as the glare fades away and is replaced by one of panic and confusion. He starts to twitch and shake and pull against the bonds that hold him to the chair, then he winces and growls out in something that sounds like pain.

You stand up from the floor. “Sam? What’s happening?”

Sam shakes his head, but doesn’t look at you, he just watches Dean writhe in his shackles and roar in agony.

-

A handful of shots later, Dean still looks panicked and in pain, and he’s growled and roared after every injection. Sam’s just made another injection and it seems to be no exception.

After the pain seems to have passed, Dean picks his head up from his chest and looks at Sam. “For all you know, you could be killing me.”

“There’s nothing in the lore that says there’s any exception to the cure,” Sam retorts as he leans back on the metal cart.

“The lore… Hunters… Men of Letters… What a load of crap! And you want to be a part of this, sweetheart?” Dean eyes land on you. “You really want to team up with Sammy while I’m gone? Oh wait, no, that’s not it. You want in our club, yeah, that’s it; Luke, Leia, and Han. You want to band together and go up against Vader and Emperor Palpatine. Well, guess what, little girl, it’s not gonna happen. ‘Cause Princess Leia, she was a hottie, don’t get me wrong, but she never went off with Han and got some poor sap killed.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sam interrupts.

“I know how far you two went to find me. I know what you two did; Crowley told me all about it. So, let me ask you, little girl.” Dean’s eyes come back to you. “Are you a _good_ witch, or a _bad_ witch?”

You know exactly what Dean’s referring to, and as soon as the words come out of his mouth, your blood runs cold. What you and Sam did, it wasn’t supposed to happen, it wasn’t planned, but it did; it happened. Your legs give out, and you slide down the cold cement wall, so you’re sitting on the floor, and the memories just flood back.

Lester was sitting at the bar, shit faced and slurring his words about his cheating wife to you, while you were nursing what you claimed was your eighth beer, but was really your second. You and Sam had been looking for someone exactly like Lester. It was low, it was dirty, and it wasn’t fighting fair, but at that point, you and Sam were out of options; you needed a Cross Road demon to find Crowley and Dean, and you both knew no demon would deal with Sam. Lester was perfect.

You and Sam listened to his Scotch-laced sob story about how he an d his wife hadn’t had sex for four months. You and Sam interjected with appropriate reactions and sympathetic looks, while Lester continued his drunken rant. When he divulged that the only thing he thought of was getting revenge on his cheating-tabletop-sex-tattoo-and-bowling-league-loving wife, you and Sam both knew Lester was your guy.

Then Sam piped up and flawlessly went through the well-rehearsed script, and the minute he said, “Wouldn’t be so sure about that. It is possible that you can have your revenge. I mean hell, it’s possible you can have pretty much anything you want,” you knew there was no turning back, and you had to stick the plan: let Lester summon the Cross Road demon, while you and Sam hid, then jump in at the last second, subdue the demon, and get the information you needed to get.

If only it had been that easy.

You and Sam hid in the bushes while Lester fumbled through the Latin summoning spell, and even though you’d talked him through the plan multiple times on the car ride to the cross road, Lester was a moron who only wanted revenge. Before you and Sam could stop Lester, he made the deal with the demon, kiss and all, and then it was all over.

You brought Lester home, while Sam stayed in the woods with the brunette Cross Road demon. The last thing you saw as you drove away, was the gleam of Sam's knife and him stringing the demon up from a branch of a tree.

Sam was dark then, driven by desperation and fear, both you and Sam would have done anything to get Dean back. Selling a man’s soul wasn’t in the plan, but it was what it was, and you both knew there was no going back. The guilt weighed heavily on you both, but neither of you ever spoke of it again.

“Oh, and so you know, “Dean starts and pulls you out of your thoughts. “I killed Lester myself, and that wife of his, she married the tattoo guy.” Dean looks directly at you. “You surprise me, Short Stack. You got a dark side too. _I like it_.”

“She had nothing to do with it!” Sam slams his hand down on the metal cart, and you jump.

“Oh, but she did, Sammy. She crossed that line just like you did, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you two might actually be worse than me! You two, looking for me, got a man killed, and you cost him his soul. I’m proud, Short Stack.” Dean grins at you. “You and Sammy did a bang up job.”

Exhausted from Dean’s verbal assault, from days a week’s worth of days filled with fear and flashbacks of the face you’re staring at right now, you run your hands through your hair and mutter, “We didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Oh, but it did, kiddo, and you’ve earned yourself a front row seat in h---"

“She didn’t do anything!” Sam roars as he stabs the syringe in the back of Dean’s neck, and you flinch at Sam’s voice.

After Dean growls and yells in pain from the most recent round of blessed blood, he looks at you and says, “You know what Sammy’s gonna have to do if this doesn’t work, right? You think he’s gonna have THE STOMACH FOR THAT? Are you gonna be able to watch him hurt your precious Dean?”

Though he means them to, Dean’s words don’t make your confidence in Sam falter. You hold your chin up high and look over at Sam, but as soon as you see the fear on Sam’s face, your confidence flies out the window, and you realize that Dean could be right. This could actually be hurting Dean; it could kill him.

-

Sam’s on the phone with Cas, and your head is pounding so hard you can’t hear what he’s saying, but you can practically feel his desperation and urgency.

Once Sam gets off the phone, you sneak a peek in on Dean and see that his eyes are closed, and his head is hanging limply on his chest.

“Sam…” You whisper, because it’s all you can muster with the fear and exhaustion coursing through your veins. “I think something’s wrong.”

Sam looks around the corner and sees what you’re seeing. He runs into the room, you follow close behind him, and watch as Sam slaps Dean’s face, trying to revive him.

“Dean!” Sam shakes him. “C’mon, wake up!”

Dean groans and weakly lifts his head up.

“You alright?” Sam asks with fear in his voice.

“Yeah,” Dean groans, “If you call drowning in your own sweat while your blood boils, alright, then I’m great.”

“Well, I can’t stop now,” Sam says quickly as he walks over to the metal cart to grab another blood shot.

“’Course you can. You just stop, because there’s no way you’re gonna bring _him_ back.”

“Oh, I’m gonna bring him back,” Sam interjects.

“I don’t think so. He’s gone, and I’m lovin’ the new Dean. He does all kinds of fun stuff, isn’t that right, Short Stack?”

“Shut your mouth,” you growl to Dean.

“And she speaks!” Dean laughs. “You notice I tried to get as far away from you two as possible. Away from Sam’s constant whining and complaining. And you…” Dean’s cold green eyes land back on you. “You… always in the way, always askin’ nine thousand questions and thinkin’ laundry and philly cheesesteak sandwiches were gonna win me over. You’re pathetic, and you really only had once use. Sammy’s not gonna want you now, ‘cause honey, I _used_ you up. I _broke_ you, and you loved every minute of it. And when I get out of this, you and me… We’re gonna have another go.”

Sam steps between you and Dean, and looks directly at you. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to get to you. Nothing he’s saying is true. None of it, okay?”

“Oh, Sammy.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Always gotta save the damsel. I think that’s part of why I chose Crowley over you. Just think about that for a second; I chose Crowley…over _you_. You wanna know why, Sammy? ‘Cause I was sick and tired of babysittin’ your lame ass! And always havin’ to yank you outta the fire, since, well… _forever_. And maybe ‘cause of the fact that my mother would still be alive if it weren’t for you! You’re very shit-hole existence in this world sucks the very life out of my----"

That’s when you break, and you can’t handle Dean’s vile words anymore. You run from the other side of the room and just start swinging, with fear, rage, and pain behind each punch. “You shut your god dammed mouth! You don’t know ANYTHING!” You only get in three or four good punches to Dean’s face, and Sam pulls you off of Dean.

Dean licks the blood from his lips and laughs. “Oh, Short Stack, I’m gonna get you back for that. You just wait and see.”

You sob into Sam’s chest, and he gently smoothes the back of your hair. “Shhh. It’s okay. C’mon, you don’t need to see this.” Sam scoops you up and carries you out of the room.

The last thing you hear as Sam turns the corner is Dean yelling, “See, Sammy! Always gotta save the damsel. Lame…”

Sam doesn’t even ask, he just brings you into his room, carefully sets you on his bed, and kneels in front of you. He reaches up, wipes away your tears, and pulls you into a hug. “That’s not Dean; that’s not my brother, and what he said… It’s not true.”

“But it is, Sam.” You continue to sob. “I’m broken! He’s right. How can you still want me? He said it, you always have to save me. You would have found Dean faster if I wouldn’t have been with you, and you would have---“

“No,” Sam says carefully and shakes his head. “Nothing, not a single word he said was true; none of it. You’re not broken, he didn’t… _use_ you up. I still want you, always have, since that day in the library, and when this is all over, it’ll get better, okay? You’ll get better, and I’ll help you, but right now, I have to go back in there and finish this. I’m gonna bring him back.”

“But what if it doesn’t….”

“It will. It has to, alright? And then it’ll be over.” Sam carefully cups your face with his hands and rubs your cheeks with his thumbs. “Nothing he said was true. Do you believe me?”

You want to believe it, so you nod your head.

“Good. ‘Cause I’ve never lied to you, and I never will.” Sam kisses you softly and rests his forehead against yours. “Why don’t you get some rest, and when you wake up, this’ll all be over.”

Sam lays you back on his pillows and takes off your shoes. After he covers you with a blanket, you look up at him. “Sam?”

“Hmmm?”

“Am I safe in here?”

Sam digs in his bedside table and pulls out an angel blade and a flask of holy water. “I don’t know if the angel blade will work on him, but the holy water will. If something goes wrong, use the holy water, and you hide.” He pulls a canister of salt out from under his bed. “You take this with you, and you make a thick line in front of the door; he can’t cross that. Do you have your phone?”

Again, you nod your head. “It’s in my pocket.”

“If that happens, you call Cas. He and Hannah are on their way, but that’s not gonna happen. I’m gonna fix this; I’m gonna fix him, I swear it.” Sam kisses your forehead and stands up from the floor. “You’re safe. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you again.”

“I know.” Your eyelids are heavy, and just as Sam walks out of his bedroom, your eyes close, and you fall asleep.

_“Look at you, kiddo,” Dean groaned as he shoved himself inside you over and over again. He ran his fingers up and down your bruised and naked chest and grinned with pitch black eyes when you whimpered at the pain. “I guess you really do bruise like a peach, but you know what they say, don’t you? The almost ruined ones taste all the more sweet.”_

You stay asleep in Sam’s bed, but your dreams make you toss and turn until another horrific memory worms it’s way into your subconscious.

_At first, even though you promised you’d do as Dean said and let him take what he wanted, you fought against him, and he threw a couple of punches at your face. “You fightin’ me already, Short Stack? We’re just getting’ warmed up!” Dean laughed and rocked his hips painfully into you. “Dean Winchester isn’t just a legend in the hunting world, he’s also a legend in the sack, and you, little girl, you get to experience that first hand.”_

_You still struggled against him, tried to push him away, and pull your wide spread legs shut, but Dean just clicked his tongue. “Oh, baby girl, you can’t fight me; this isn’t how good girls are supposed to behave.” He wrapped his hands around your hair and pulled your head painfully back against the filthy mattress. “You may have gotten a good right hook in on me back in the day, but now, I don’t think you’ll be fightin’ me anymore, because if you push me away one more time, I will gut Sammy nice and slow so you can see it all. He’ll be dead because of you.” Dean rammed himself into you to accent his threat. “So why don’t you just lie back and enjoy the ride. I know I am.”_

You whimper and cry into Sam’s pillow, gripping his blanket in your tightly clenched fist, but you still don’t wake up from your nightmare.

_“God dammit, Short Stack,” Dean moaned as he kissed and bit at your sore and bruised breasts. “You’re such a pretty damn thing. How could I not see it before? Should have kept you all to myself. If you woulda been mine, you woulda never left my room. Woulda kept you trussed up and ready for me all the time. There woulda been no sneakin’ off to the stacks with Sammy, nope, you woulda been mine.” Dean pulled your tired and sore leg up and tossed it over his shoulder so he could push into your sore and raw center further. “Maybe I’ll go back on my deal. Maybe I’ll take you with me, tie you up in the back of the Impala and make you ride me like a stallion. I can just get rid of Sammy right here, right now, and take you with me on the road. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little girl? You’re doin’ so good, takin’ me and my big cock like a champ. Though, I bet you’re gonna feel it tomorrow. You’re gonna feel this for a long time, aren’t you?”_

This time you wake up. You sit straight up in Sam’s bed, with sweat pouring down your body, rivers of tears flowing from your eyes, and a terror-filled, blood-curdling scream rips itself from your throat.

-

Sam makes his way from his bedroom and down the hall, back to room 7B.

Dean’s still shackled to his chair with the silver engraved manacles, and that smirk is still there.

“You’re back, Sammy. Only gone ‘bout five minutes, surely that wasn’t enough for a little quickie.”

“Do you know what you did to her?!” Sam yells. “You tore her open, she was bleeding and bruised, and scared of everything! I tried to bring her to the hospital, but she wouldn’t let me, you know why?”

Dean sighs and rolls his eyes. “Don’t know, don’t care. I got what I wanted, Sammy; she’s your problem now. Though, when I get out of this.” He rattles the silver shackles on his wrist. “I’m gonna have another go, and I tell you what, I’m gonna do a lot more than tear her open, and there’s nothing you’re gonna do about it.”

“Watch me.” Sam grabs another syringe and stabs it into Dean’s neck.

After Dean winces and groans in his shackles, he looks up at Sam. “You know, about what _happened_ to her…”

“What _you did_ to her,” Sam growls the correction.

“You say tomato, I say _tah-mah-toe_ …” Dean shrugs. “You know, this is all your fault, if you would have just left her behind, I woulda never---"

“I know,” Sam interrupts through gritted teeth.

Dean stays quiet for a little while, he just lets Sam bask in the glory of his guilt. He doesn’t say anything, he just chuckles darkly. “You shoulda been able to get out of those ropes. You should have saved her from the Big Bad Wolf, but you’re weak, Sammy! You’re weak, and this is all your fault. And even if she does get passed this, even if she isn’t broken, and she’s as strong as you say she is, she’s always gonna look at you, and remember _me_. And you know what? She’ll always blame you.”

“I know!” Sam yells and slams his hand down on the metal cart. “Alright? I KNOW!”

“How can you even look at her?” Dean starts again. “Knowing how broken she is, how it was _me_ that broke her? Even if you fix me, like you say you’re gonna, she’s gonna be a constant reminder of all of _this_. You two won’t last. She’ll never get passed this, and you know what? Neither will you.”

Sam rushes forward to Dean and raises his fist to take a swing, but your scream travels down the hall and right into their ears.

“I know that scream.” Dean smirks wide. “I’ve made _______ make that scream, before. See? She’s thinkin’ ‘bout me already.”

Sam spins on his heel and sprints out of room 7B, down the hall, and into his bedroom. He finds you sitting straight up in his bed, sobbing and shaking.

“Hey, _____, I’m here. It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you; you’re safe. It’s almost over.” He wants to reach for you and pull you close, but he’s learned over the past week that when you’re scared like this, you don’t want to be touched. However, he’s surprised when you climb into his lap and curl up in his arms. “It’s okay, I’m right here,” he repeats softly.

“I dreamed about _him_ again. What _he_ did, what he _took_ … I know you said he’s wrong, but he’s not, he’s---"

Both you and Sam freeze when the power goes out and the emergency red lights eerily light up the room.

Sam shoves the angel blade and the flask of holy water in your hands and bolts up from the bed. “You have to run. You can’t get out of here; you can’t leave, not when the bunker’s closed down like this, but you have to hide, okay?”

“Sam, I can’t—"

“Yes you can! You have to hide; in the library, or in the kitchen, doesn’t matter where, but you have to hide. NOW! Go!” Sam pulls you up from the bed and drags you over to the door. He peeks out, looking to the left and to the right. “RUN!”

With your angel blade and your flask gripped tightly in your hands, you run left while Sam runs right. Sam suggested that you hide in the library, but you know that would be the second place Dean would look, Sam’s room being the first.

Trying to push your fear and panic aside, when you reach your first corner, you do just what Dean taught you all those months ago. _You have to keep your head on straight, and think about what the monster is gonna do, Short Stack. That monster is lookin’ for you, and it’s out for your blood, but you have to be one step ahead of it. Think like the monster: where would it think scared little girls would hide?_

“You’re not a scared little girl,” you mutter the lie to yourself. “You can do this. _Hide_.”

In every attempt to be stealthy-while-scared, you barely peek your head around the corner and see that the coast is clear. You run as fast as you can down the left hall, knowing it will lead you to the garage, and it's got plenty of places to hide, plus Dean knows you hate it in there. It’s dirty and stinky from oil and anti-freeze, but there’s so many places you could literally disappear, and it’s the furthest place you can get without actually leaving the bunker.

“I know I was a little rough the first go ‘round, sweetheart, but I swear, this time, I’ll be gentle. I promise I’ll make it good!” Dean yells from the end of your hallway, and you freeze.

You take a couple terrified steps backward, and you hear Dean’s voice again. “See, I shut this place down; sure I can’t get out, but you know what, Short Stack? Neither can you. I’ll find you… Come out, come out, where ever you are!”

Knowing Dean’s only feet away from you, you tear back around the corner and sprint down the hall. When you can actually hear his footsteps, you take a hard right into the first room you see, and as soon as you close the door behind you, the smell hits you; you’re in Dean’s room.

You look around and see in Dean’s bedroom that your only options for hiding are under his bed or in his closet.

“Fuck!” You mutter under your breath, “I’m officially the dumb girl in all the scary movies.”

After deciding against hiding under Dean’s bed, you throw yourself into his closet and quietly close the door behind yourself. As you hold your breath, you unscrew the cap of the holy water flask and text Cas, **“GET HERE NOW!!!!”** But, when you hear Dean’s footsteps come closer, you shut off the phone and shove it in your pocket.

“If you’re a good little girl,” Dean says with sarcasm and innuendo as he kicks in Sam’s bedroom door, “I’ll do what you asked…” Dean looks around Sam’s room, and touches the wrinkled spot in the bed where it was obvious you were sleeping. When he hears a tiny noise from down the hall, Dean whips around and catches his reflection in the mirror on the wall, then grins with his eyes flicking black. “I’ll do what you asked… I’ll show you my eyes.”

You whimper in the closet when you hear Dean’s voice coming from either your room or Sam’s room, and you cover your mouth to silence your erratic breathing, but it’s too late. Dean kicks in his own door.

“I can smell you, little girl. I know you’re in here. And here I thought we had some unspoken rule about keeping each other’s privacy?” Dean looks under his bed, then chuckles. “At least you learned something that I taught you: never hide under the bed, much too obvious, but where, oh where, are you?”

Gripping the opened flask in one hand and the angel blade in the other, you wait, because you know exactly where Dean’s going to check next. He’s going to find you, and you know it’s not going to be pretty.

“Gotta be one step ahead of the monster, Short Stack.” Dean runs his fingers over the door handle of his closet. “And this!” He rips open the door and looks at you with cold black eyes. “ _This_ isn’t the place to hide!” Dean reaches down, yanks you up off the floor, and grins in your face. “Found ya.”

“SAM!” You scream while trying to get away from Dean.

“Sam didn’t save you the first time, what makes you think he’s gonna do it now?” Dean rips the angel blade and the flask from your hands and throws them across the room. “You and me, we got a hot date, but first, we gotta find Sammy, ‘cause he’s gonna wanna see this.”

Dean wraps one hand around your wrists, and pulls his other hand around your waist so you’re pressed tightly against him, and he drags you kicking and screaming down the hallway.

“Dean! Don’t! Please! LET ME GO!”

“Oh, honey, I learned the first time. Not lettin’ you go ever again. Gonna find Sammy, then find those shiny silver cuffs, and you and me, we’re gonna have a grand ole time! You remember how it goes.”

When you feel another set of hands on your body, you fight harder to get away from Dean, but when you look up, you see Cas standing behind Dean, holding him tightly while he struggles. For a second, you fight against the new hands that hold you tightly, but stop when you hear Sam whisper in your ear, “It’s okay, _______. I’ve got you.”

-

It took a little bit of wrangling, but Cas and Sam got Dean back in his chair and handcuffed with the Enochian engraved manacles. Hannah holds you tightly, trying to comfort you in her arms while Sam administers the last injection.

“What the hell are we doing to him, Cas? I mean, after we gave him all that blood, he still said he didn’t want to be cured, and that he didn’t want to me be human.”

“I can see his point,” Cas answers. “You know only humans can feel really joy, but also such profound pain; _this_ is easier.”

From yours and Hannah’s seat on the floor, you watch Dean raise his head and see the blackness drain from his eyes. Sam and Cas change their stances to more defensive ones, and Sam gets his flask of holy water ready.

Dean looks up at Sam, and with a confused look on his face, he says, “You look worried, fellas.”

You close your eyes, let out a pained and relieved cry, and lean closer into Hannah. She holds you tightly and whispers, “It’s over.”

Sam and Cas share a confused look, then Sam throws a splash of holy water at Dean, to which he doesn’t respond to like he did the last time both you and Sam splashed him with it. He just looks up at Sam with a shocked and horrified look on his face.

“Welcome back, Dean,” Sam says with a smile, and you slowly get up from Hannah’s lap, then walk over to Sam and grab his hand.

Dean looks at Sam, Cas, at Hannah in the corner, and then his eyes fall on you. Your chest heaves in silent sobs when you look at him, and you can actually see Dean remember everything; he remembers his time as a demon, his galavanting with Crowley, and _what he did_. You don’t mean to, but you turn your head away from him and bury it in Sam’s chest. He pulls you close, kisses the top of your head, and whispers, “It’s gonna be okay.”

When Cas walks over to Dean and unties his ropes, Hannah walks over to you and gently touches your shoulder. Dean hasn’t taken his eyes off of you since he’s been back. “If you want me to, I can still wipe your memories; I can make it all go away.”

You look back to Dean, and flinch when your eyes meet, but you shake your head and tell Hannah, “No.”


	7. I See People Turn Their Heads and Quickly Turn Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Back to normal" isn't exactly what you thought it would be...for anyone.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

Sam’s been going back and forth between you and Dean for the last three hours. You’ve been asleep, but he just keeps checking on you every few minutes because he doesn’t want you to wake up alone. Dean knows what his brother’s doing, but he’s kept quiet because he has no idea what to say.

“She’s still sleeping,” Sam tells Dean when he comes back to the big table in the bunker.

Dean offers a head nod as his reply, then says, “That’s good.”

“Yeah,” Sam answers as he pours himself another glass of whiskey. “She’s… She’s doing…” He runs his fingers through his hair. “Things’ll get better now… for everyone.”

“Jesus, Sammy, how could I?” Dean shoots his whiskey and slams the glass down on the table. “What do I even… I didn’t… I would never _ever_ —"

“She knows,” Sam interrupts. “ _I_ know. It wasn’t you, we both know that.”

“How is she? I mean, I know she’s not okay, but how is she?”

Sam pours the last of the whiskey in his glass and fills it to the brim. “Well… She needed a couple stitches in her shoulder, and I tried to get her to go to the hospital, but she wouldn’t, go.” Sam takes a drink of his whiskey and keeps the major details to himself. “So, I called Cas and Hannah, and Hannah healed her; physically she’s fine now.”

“ _Physically_ …” Dean rubs the back of his neck and leans back in his chair.

The brothers sit in silence with their whiskey glasses and stare at the dark wood of the table.

Sam jumps when Dean’s chair scrapes on the floor. “Gonna go find another bottle,” Dean grumbles as he rounds the corner out the room.

With his head in his hands, Sam closes his eyes. He has his own flashbacks that won’t leave him alone.

_Sam felt the tendons in his shoulder rip when he used all his strength to try to break the rope, but the pain didn't stop him. He still kept on yanking and pulling with every ounce of strength he had._

_At first you struggled against Dean; you kicked and pushed and screamed at him, and part of Sam didn’t believe it was all happening. That part of Sam thought he’d tear the ropes down, pull Dean off of you, and you’d both drag him back to the bunker, but that never happened, and Sam was forced to watch everything that did happen._

_Regardless of how hard Sam pulled on his ropes, they never broke. No matter how much Sam screamed at Dean, he never stopped. Sam couldn’t stop the thick wooden posts of the bed from sliding on the dirt covered floor, and he couldn’t stop the headboard from slamming into the wall, but that wasn’t the worst part for Sam. The worst part was when your screams turned into whimpers, and then into nothing at all. When that happened, when you finally submitted to Dean, so did Sam. He let his head hang and whispered into his gag, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”_

_Dean was right,_ Sam thinks to himself as he shakes the memories away, _If I wouldn’t have brought her with me, this wouldn’t have happened; this is all my fault. And since when can’t I get out of ropes? I’ve been getting out a ropes since grade school! I should have been able to get out. I should have been able to stop Dean. I should have been able to save _______.”_

“Sam?” Your voice whispers softly in the quiet of the bunker.

You’d woken up to an empty bed and decided to venture out of Sam’s bedroom. Before you walked into the room, you peeked around the corner to see if Dean was with Sam, and when he wasn’t, you walked up to Sam.

“Hey,” Sam answers with a half-smile, thankful that you pulled him out of his own thoughts, and he reaches for your hand. “I was just going to come check on you. Did you get some sleep?”

“Yeah, a little bit...” You grab Sam’s glass of whiskey and take a sip in hopes that it would make you feel something other than fear. “Is there anymore of this? I could totally—“

“Sammy, I found another bottle. It’s the last one, so we’re gonna have to---“

You flinch at Dean’s voice, and the whiskey glass falls from your hand, breaking into a handful of pieces on top of the table.

Sam sees you start to shake and watches your face turn pale. Dean sees this too and instinctively walks toward you. Dean’s a protector, he has been his whole life. He chased off the pervy guy at the bar, and he saved your life the day the ghouls devoured your parents. He's _your_ protector; it's just who he is, and you know this, but when he starts to walk toward you, you back away. You’re scared, and you can’t help it, and the tears start to fall.

“D-don’t,” you plead and shake your head at Dean.

Dean stops. This is the first time he’s seen you since he’s ‘been back,’ and while he remembers everything – every detail, every disgusting word he said to you, and how he hurt you – once he sees your face and your pain, your grief, and your terror, it really hits him. He has no idea what to do with the guilt and the disgust with himself that hang heavy in his heart, but he knows he deserves every ounce of it for what he did to you.

“_______.” Sam’s already up out of his chair, and he crouches down so his hazel eyes can look into your scared and tear-filled ones. “It’s okay; I’m right here. It’s all over. That’s Dean, the _real_ Dean, _your_ Dean, and he’s not going to hurt you. I won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again. I promise.”

Sam sees that your hands are shaking. He moves to hold them, but you pull your hands away before he can touch you.

“N-no.”

After slowly bringing his hands back to his sides, he says, “It’s okay; I won’t.”

“I broke the glass, Sam.” You look at the chunks of glass on the table. “It’s… _broken_. No one’s gonna want it anymore.”

“It’s okay,” Dean whispers hesitantly. “We can fix it. _I_ can fix it; I swear I will.” And he means it, but as soon as he makes his promise, he feels the mark on his skin burn, like it’s taunting him and reminding him that he can’t fix anything. The mark always burns, it burns like a dull heat that never goes away, but right now it burns searing hot, and Dean thinks he deserves so much more.

You shake your head at Dean’s promise and carefully collect the pieces of glass, then walk them over to the garbage can. “It can’t be fixed. It doesn’t matter. It’s broken.”

Both Sam and Dean know you’re not talking about the broken whiskey glass, and when Sam starts to walk toward you, you shy away from him and shake your head. “I’m tired. M’gonna go back to sleep.”

Listening to the sound of your feet walk and then run down the hall, Sam and Dean stand still in their spots and hang their heads.

“Sammy, I didn’t mean…”

“I know you didn't. She reminded me several times over the last week; she knows it too. She just needs time. I’m gonna go…” Sam points down the hallway.

“Yeah.” Dean collapses in his chair and watches Sam walk away. “Hey, Sam?”

Sam stops and looks back at Dean.

“Take care of her, alright?”

“I will.”

Alone at the table, Dean stares at the dark wood, and then drags his fingers over the mark on the inside of his arm. It still taunts him, and it still burns like fire, but he knows where he’s going after this, the flames will be so much worse.

-

_You’re pathetic, and you really only had one use. Sammy’s not gonna want you now, ‘cause honey, I _used_ you up. I _broke_ you, and you loved every minute of it. _

Dean’s words scream in your head as you run down the hall, back toward Sam’s room, but you don’t open his door; you choose the next door, which is your bedroom, and go inside.

Your room is dark and kind of stale smelling because it’s been closed up for weeks now, but you climb under your blankets, curl yourself into a tiny ball, and cry silently into your pillows.

_Sammy’s not gonna want you. I broke you._

You curl yourself up tighter when you hear Sam’s bedroom door open and then close, and you flinch when he knocks on your door.

“_______?” He says your name gently. “Can I come in?”

“Go away, Sam.” You feel like no one could want you, not after everything.

_Sammy’s not gonna want you._

“I just want to see if you’re okay.”

_I used you up. I broke you._

A sob tears free from your mouth, and Sam takes a hesitant step inside your bedroom. “It’s okay, I’m right here.”

“Go away. You don’t want me. I’m br—" You can’t finish your sentence because another series of sobs escape your lips.

“No, you’re not.” Sam lays down on the opposite side of the bed as you, in hopes that simply being close to you, he can give you some sort of comfort. He’s learned over the past week that when you’re upset, you generally don’t want to be touched, but he wants to comfort you and give you reassurance. “And I don’t want to go; I will if you really want me to, but I do… I do want you.”

“Why?” You ask with a slightly disgusted tone. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me.”

“I don’t. Well, I do, but not like that. And I want you because… Because I do. And you’re not broken; because I’m here, and I won’t let you break. It’s gonna be okay. _You’re_ gonna be okay.” Sam inches his hand across the mattress and slowly links his pinkie with yours like you did before. “It’ll be okay, I promise it will.”

“Sam,” you sob his name and move across your bed toward him. “I’m sorry…”

He rolls on his back and carefully pulls you to him so he can hold you close, while the hand that’s tucked into his sling pets the top of your head. “You don’t have to be sorry; this isn’t your fault. It’s gonna be okay. I’m right here.”

-

When you wake up the next morning, you’re snuggled close to Sam, comfortable and warm, and on top of your dresser you see two dandelions in a cup. Being careful not to wake Sam, you get up from bed and look more closely at the flowers. Once you’re standing at your dresser, you realize they’re not in an ordinary cup, they’re in a whiskey glass, the _broken_ whiskey glass. Only it’s not broken anymore; Dean glued it back together.

*//*

Since Sam’s bed is bigger than yours, after the first night, Sam helped you gather up a few of your things, and you went back into his bedroom. Other than to the bathroom, you haven’t left Sam’s room again; you just aren’t ready. Sam’s room is warm, it’s quiet, it smells like him, and it makes you feel safe.

For three days, Sam brings you food and water, books and movies. Sometimes you’re awake when he comes in and sometimes you’re not. When you are, Sam stays for a while, for as long as he can. He sits with you, or talks about the books you’re reading, or movies you’re watching, or whatever is going on outside the safety of his bedroom. Your conversations are easy and light, and you can tell that Sam always tries to have a smile on his face.

“I found this in your room.” Sam sits down next to you and hands you your copy of _Labyrinth_. “You wanna watch it tonight?”

“We can watch it right now if you want.”

“Actually, I was going to make a food run; we’re getting kind of low. You want to come with me?”

It’s been three days, and the thought of leaving Sam’s room for any extended period of time still makes you uneasy, but you’ve been thinking about it more and more; yet you still decline Sam’s offer. “No, I think I’m just gonna eat and hang out in here, if that’s okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, but just so you know…” Sam reaches for your hand. “Dean will be here, too.”

“That’s fine.” You carefully trace the yellow-ish green bruises on his wrist and try to decide if it really is fine. Sam’s barely mentioned Dean at all over the past few days, and after what happened the last time you ventured out of Sam’s bedroom, you’re kind of thankful, which makes you feel guilty.

“Are you sure? I can take him with me.”

You shake your head and look up at Sam. “I’ll be okay.” It’s strange, because Sam’s told you every day that you’ll be okay, but when those three words come out of your mouth, for the first time, you actually believe it.

“I know you will. You’ve been doing really well. I told you things would get better; you just needed some time.”

“Now, I just need to be able to leave your room without freaking out.”

“You will. There’s no rush.” Sam laces his fingers with yours. “No one’s rushing you into anything. Whatever you need, okay?”

You both just look at each other, and then you slowly lean in to kiss Sam. It’s soft and gentle; just a couple of slow kisses, and then small smiles against each other’s lips. It’s odd to you how letting go, just a little bit - letting Sam in, letting him kiss you, or letting yourself to kiss him - is frightening, yet reassuring, and a little bit comforting.

“So…” Sam steals another soft kiss. “I’m gonna go on a food run. Do you have any requests?”

Your look at the tray of food Sam just brought in and see a grilled cheese with a handful of potato chips. “Is that the same thing Dean’s been eating for the last few days?”

“Yeah?” Sam smirks. “Why?”

“Because he needs a burger and some pie.” You smile, and it feels good. “Extra onions.”

“That’s what he asked for.”

“Get me one, too?”

“Three burgers and three fries for dinner; anything else?”

“Nope. Just whatever looks good.”

“Kay. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Call me if you think of something else, alright?”

“Yup.” You continue to smile as Sam walks out of his bedroom, and it actually feels _really_ good.

-

While Sam is gone, you send him a message asking him to pick up whatever snacks he thinks look good for your evening screening of _Labyrinth_ , and just as you move to put your phone on it’s charger, you see an string of old messages between you and Dean.

As you read through months’ worth of messages, you smile at the goofy little jokes Dean sent you, and the crazy pictures he took of shoddy motel rooms, ridiculously huge burgers and glasses of beer from when he and Sam were on the road. Your hands shake, your palms sweat, and your heart races, but you tap on the message field and send Dean a message:

     **You: hi**

It’s only seconds that pass while you wait for Dean to message you back, but they stretch on for years.

**Dean: hey**  
**You: are you busy?**  
**Dean: nope. Do you need something?**  
**You: nope.**  
**Dean: OK**  
**You: thanks for the flowers**  
**Dean: they’re just from out front**  
**You: it was nice. Thanks :)**  
**Dean. welcome. :)**  
**Dean: don’t tell anyone I used the sideways smiley face thing**

You actually laugh, and it feels good.  
  
**You: Lol the whole world’s going to know now. Dean Winchester uses emoticons.**  
**Dean: :)**  
**You: see?**  
**Dean: I’ll deny it for the rest of my life.**  
**You: good luck with that.**  
**You: where are you?**  
**Dean: just down the hall. My room.**  
**Dean: that okay?**  
**You: yup**  
**Dean: k**

After five minutes of going through the pictures on your phone and staring at the small conversation between you and Dean, you message him again.

**You: are you still there?**  
**Dean: yup.**  
**You: I’m glad you’re back.**

Three minutes later…

**Dean: Sam’s here.**

-

“You can do this,” you tell yourself as your shaky hands pull on a pair of jeans and lace up your shoes. “He’s not going to hurt you. That’s Dean, _your_ Dean; he would never hurt you. What happened… that was _not_ Dean.” You throw a sweatshirt over your tee shirt and long sleeved shirt because you can never seem to get warm and run a brush through your hair. “Dean would never hurt you,” you tell your reflection in Sam’s mirror for the umpteenth time. “Just stay close to Sam and eat your burger. It’ll be fine. You can do this.”

With your heart pounding in your chest, you slowly walk down the hall and pause outside the door to the main room of the bunker. When you peek your head around the corner, you see Sam unpacking two plastic bags of styrofoam containers and setting them on the table. Dean’s sitting at the table too, and he’s staring at the screen of his phone.

After taking a deep breath, you slowly walk into the room, and Sam sees you first. “Hey,” he says with a smile. “I was just gonna bring you your burger.”

Dean looks up from his phone, and you see him take a deep breath.

“If it’s okay…” You look down at your feet and wring your hands. “I was going to eat out here with you guys.”

“Of course that’s okay.” Sam pulls out a chair right next to him and puts your burger and fries in front of it.

While Sam and Dean eat, you pick at your french fries and look over at Dean through the corner of your eye. When he catches your eyes, you look back down at your fries, and Sam wraps his arm around you. You just want to be able to look at Dean, to see the Dean from before, the Dean who made you laugh, teased you, picked on you, and stole your food, so you keep sneaking glances at him, trying to see all those things, but stolen glances aren’t enough.

The silence of the room is deafening in your ears, and it must be the same way for Dean because he abruptly stands up from the table. “I’m gonna grab us some beers.”

As soon as Dean’s out of the room, you blow out a heavy breath and bury your face in your hands.

“It’s okay,” Sam rubs your back. “You’re doin’ fine. I’m right here.”

“I hate this.”

“It won’t be like this forever, I promise.”

“Awesome job grocery shopping, Sammy. There’s two beers left, so, Short Stack, you gotta have—“

_You are such a good little girl, Short Stack, never gonna find another one like you, am I? You sure you don’t want to come with me?_

Dean freezes right where he is when you quickly kick your chair back and rush away from the table. Both brothers watch you try to breathe in shaky and panicked breaths, but it’s Sam who stands up and comes over to you.

“It’s okay; just breathe. I’m right here, and nothing’s going to happen to you. You’re safe.” You wipe at the tears that roll down your cheeks and nod your head. “It’s okay,” Sam repeats and carefully holds your hands that won’t stop shaking. “It’s not him. Nothing’s going to happen; it’s just Dean.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Dean take a hesitant step toward his chair, and you rip your hands from Sam’s, then take two steps backward. Dean freezes again.

“I can’t…” You shake your head. “I want to, but… I can’t.” Your eyes catch Dean’s, and the guilty look on his face breaks your heart. “I’m sorry.” You turn on your heel and practically run back to Sam’s room.

Once you’re out of the room, Dean collapses in his chair. “She’s scared of me.”

Sam grabs his beer and sits down in his chair. “She doesn’t want to be.”

“She messaged me earlier. She said she was glad I was back… How can she be?”

“Because she _is_ glad you’re back. She knows it wasn’t you; she doesn’t blame you.”

“How can she NOT blame me? IT WAS ME!”

“This is about her, and she sees it differently; we both do. You’d never hurt her, you’d never… do _that_ to her, or to anyone for that matter. It may have been you, but it wasn’t _you_.”

Dean shakes his head and slams the styrofoam lid down on his barely touched burger. “You can’t even say it. I _raped_ her, Sammy! I fucking RAPED her! ME! I did that to her!”

“Can you keep your voice down? Jesus…”

After ripping the cap off his beer and taking a long pull, Dean asks, “Why didn’t she want to go to the hospital?”

Sam shakes his head and twists the cap off his own beer. “You don’t want to know.”

“Why didn’t she want to go to the hospital?” Dean asks again through gritted teeth.

“Because she was…” Sam sighs and takes a long drink of his own beer. “I woke up, and there was a puddle of blood under her on the sheets. She bled through--"

“Jesus Christ…” Dean runs his hand through his hair.

“I tried to get her to go to the hospital because… She was bleeding, and I couldn’t… But she wouldn’t go. She knew with the bleeding and the bruises, the hospital would do a rape kit, and she didn’t want… She was worried about the FBI having your DNA. She didn’t want you to be a registered sex offender.”

“How can she not blame me? I did that.” Dean waves his hand in the direction you walked off in. “She’s like that because of me. The things I… _did_ … I _should_ be a fucking registered sex offender; I _literally_ tore her open… And the things I said to her…”

“About that… I think that’s what _this_ was about.”

“Yeah, I called her ‘Short Stack;’ I figured that out.”

“Just go easy on the names for a while, and try not touch her. I mean, it’s not just you, certain things just trigger memories or whatever for her, and sometimes she just doesn’t want to be touched, even by me. It’s not just you.”

“Yeah,” Dean scoffs. “If it weren’t for me, this wouldn’t even be happening; I did this.”

“No, you didn’t, and if, after everything she believes it wasn’t you, then you should be able to believe it, too.” Sam finishes his beer and stands up from the table. “I’m gonna go check on her.”

Dean nods his head and scrubs his hand over his mouth. “Yeah, okay.”

When Sam’s out of the room, Dean picks up his phone and taps on your name. He looks over the messages the two of you sent earlier in the day and taps the message field.

**You: I’m glad you’re back.**

He types in, ‘I’m sorry,’ stares at it for a couple seconds, and then deletes it. He types the words in one more time, and a memory of the cabin, the filthy mattress, your blood, your sweat, his sweat, and the sound of your cries, all flash in his mind for just a second, then he deletes his message again.

He looks down at the mark on his arm, and then back to your message:

**You: I’m glad you’re back.**

Dean drains the last of his beer, looks at your message one more time, and then whips his phone across the room.


	8. If I Look Hard Enough Into the Setting Sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bunker is a cesspool of guilt, blame, and feels; strap on your hip waders, kids. Goggles optional.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jefferson Starship reference between you and Dean is from this song. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K1b8AhIsSYQ  
> I actually like the song; I remember listening to it, with my dad, when I was a kid and thinking it was the best song ever. :)

It’s been a week since Dean’s seen you, and even though he’s got a new phone with the same number, it’s been a week since you’ve messaged him. It’s also been a week since Sam’s even really mentioned your name. Dean is going crazy.

Dean’s a doer. When something needs to be done, he does it. When something needs ganking, he ganks it, and when something needs to be fixed, he fixes it, only there aren’t any more whiskey glasses left to glue back together, and there’s no glue to fix what he did to you.

Two nights ago, Dean was sitting at the big table until the early hours of the morning, lost in some of the Letters’ books that happened to be extra dusty, and he read until his eyes couldn’t focus anymore. Before he stood up from the table, he drained what was left in his bottle of bourbon and headed back to his room.

Since Dean’s been a hunter for more years that he cares to count, he knows when someone’s close by. He was just walking down the hallway, when he heard light and soft feet make their way down to the bathroom. Knowing it was you because of the non-sasquatch-like-sound of your feet, Dean stopped right where he was and let you get where you needed to get. Once upon a time, he may have, just to mess with you, purposely scared you in the hallway, pinned you up against the wall and tickled you until you almost peed your pants. Which, of course, would be followed by him teasing you mercilessly for days on end, but things had changed, and he’d never do that now; not after everything. He didn’t want to make you panic, he didn’t want to scare you in the middle of the night and in the dark; that’s the last thing he would ever _want_ to do. So, he waited for you to go into the bathroom, come out, walk down the hall, and go back to Sam’s bedroom, before he went into his own.

That night Dean didn’t sleep, not that he’d really been sleeping much to begin with, but he definitely didn’t sleep that night.

Dean’s a doer, except there isn’t anything for him to do.

*//*

Two steps forward, two hundred steps back; that’s what the past week has felt like to you.

You’re back in Sam’s bedroom, but this time it’s not as comforting as it was before; it’s small and confining. You crave fresh air, food that you’ve actually cooked yourself, and you’re cranky and irritated with yourself. You don’t want to be in Sam’s room, but it’s not Sam’s bedroom that’s the problem; the problem is you.

You want out of Sam’s bedroom so badly, you want things to be normal, the way they were _before_ , but every time you even think about leaving the comfort of Sam’s bedroom, your heart races, your head throbs, you shake, and your palms sweat; frankly you’re sick of it. You’re sick of being scared, sick of the nightmares, of waking up covered in sweat and seeing that pained look on Sam’s face. Of course, you don’t tell Sam any of this, because he’s been so good to you; he’s been sweet, patient, and kind, and it’s very rare that he makes you nervous anymore. You hardly ever flinch at him, and instead of being nervous when you think he’s going to touch you, you notice yourself starting to look forward to it.

For seven days it’s just been small cuddles and soft kisses between you and Sam. Of course, he’s not been able to spend every waking minute with you, both because he checks in on Dean, (though, according to Sam, Dean’s getting a little sick of that) and because the brothers have a job to do. So far, they’ve not gone out on any cases; Sam’s told you a couple times over the last week that he and Dean have called other hunters and had them take cases, but you know neither of them can stay in the bunker forever.

-

It’s three AM on the morning of the eighth day you’ve been self-sequestered in Sam’s room. He’s sleeping; you can feel his chest rising and falling even and slow under your cheek, you can hear his heart beating at a slow and steady pace, and all those things along with his scent and his presence, should be calming, comforting, and relaxing, but you can’t sleep. You’re not hungry, you’re not thirsty, you’re not scared, you’re not anything, except for restless.

Carefully, you climb up from the bed, and stand in the dark, just watching Sam sleep. He doesn’t sleep with his sling on anymore, he only wears it during the day, but when he’s asleep his face looks so peaceful, his body looks relaxed, and he looks calm. You know Sam’s been on edge for so long now: first with Dean dying, then missing, then a demon, then the terrifying night in the shack, the long days on the road following leads, and curing Dean, you know the stress of it all has gotten to Sam, and you hate that you’re a factor in all that.

In the dark you shrug off the plaid shirt you’ve officially stolen from Sam and pull on a pair of your own pants and a shirt. You don’t bother with shoes and socks because you’d just have to dig in the dark, and you don’t want to wake Sam. It’s not that you’re sneaking around, and it’s definitely not that you don’t want to be around Sam, but you know he needs rest, and you just aren’t tired.

After you tip toe out of Sam’s room, down the hall, and to the big table in the main room of the bunker, you look around the space that you haven’t been inside for weeks. The main room is huge and a little overwhelming, but you tell yourself you can do this, and you do.

After a minute, you wander into the kitchen and start a pot of coffee and steal one of Dean’s powdered sugar donuts. Once you tip toe back to the table, you start to dig through a shelf full of books. With a handful of reading material, your cup of coffee, and the powdered donut in your mouth, you curl up in one of the chairs. Sam left his jacket on the back of the chair, and it makes a perfect blanket while you drink your coffee and read your book.

-

Sam’s alarm clock on his end table read 3:54AM when he wakes up and sees that you’re not in his bed. Knowing you haven’t gone far in the last week, he waits ten minutes for you to come back from the bathroom or your bedroom, but fifteen minutes pass, and you’ve still not come back.

He gets out of bed, pulls on a pair of jeans and yanks a tee shirt over his head, then walks next door to your room. When he pokes his head inside and sees you’re not in there, he jogs down to the bathroom and knocks on the door. When you’re not in there either, he sprints down to Dean’s room and bangs on the door.

 _Bang, bang bang!_ “Dean!”

Seconds later, Dean’s at his door with squinty eyes, sleep mashed hair, and a sleep rough voice. “Wuhizit?”

“Have you seen ______?”

Dean may have spent the last four hours tossing and turning and may have only gotten about forty minutes of sleep, but he’s fully awake now. “No, why?”

“I woke up, and she was gone. She’s not in her room, and she’s not in the bathroom.”

Dean can tell his brother is panicking, and he is a little bit too. “Sammy, she’s gotta be here somewhere. Did you check the library?”

Sam shakes his head and starts to jog down the hallway. Dean follows him, and just as they turn the corner into the main room, Sam skids to a stop. Thankfully Dean’s on his game and completely awake, so he doesn’t crash into the back of his brother.

Sam points into the room as if to say, _She’s fine. She’s right there._

Dean points over his shoulder to silently tell his brother he’s going back to bed, but Sam shakes his head and motions for him to wait in the hallway for a second. Dean nods his silent ‘okay’ and watches Sam walk into the room, then hears him clears his throat softly so you know he’s there.

You jump just a little bit, and Dean braces himself for a full-on panic attack, but lets out a sigh of relief when you turn your head to look at Sam with a smile and whisper, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Sam answers softly. “Woke up and you were gone. Everything okay?” He sits down in the chair next to you.

“Yup. I’m fine. Just couldn’t sleep, and I didn’t want to wake you.” Your eyes flick away from Sam’s and briefly look at the entrance to the room. Dean moved out of sight just in time. “You woke up Dean because you couldn’t find me?”

“Crap,” Dean barely whispers. At any other time of his life, he would feel like a dumbass hiding in doorways and pussy footing around, but this isn’t like any other time, and he knows it.

“How did you know?” Sam gets a slightly worried look in his eyes. He didn’t mean to spring this on you, and he didn’t mean to force you into a situation with Dean that you weren’t ready to deal with, but he knows he can’t just shut you away forever; he just wanted to give you the option if you were feeling up to it.

“I heard two pairs of feet jogging down the hallway.” You smirk just a little bit and try to ignore your heart pounding in your chest. “You guys taught me well.” After wiping your sweaty palms on Sam’s jacket in your lap and taking a deep breath, you softly say, “You don’t have to stand in the hall, Dean. I made coffee.”

After Dean takes a deep breath of his own, he slowly walks into the room, and sees your eyes quickly drop down to the book in your lap while trying to slow your breathing. Sam sees how hard you’re trying, and he rubs your shoulder softly.

“M’gonna get that coffee, Sammy; you want some?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

After Dean walks out of the room and toward the kitchen, you blow out a heavy breath, and Sam kisses the side of your head, then whispers in your ear, “I’m proud of you.”

You smile just a little bit at him. “Just stay close, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Sam pulls his jacket, which you’re using as a blanket, down over a couple of your toes that he sees poking out from under you. He rubs your shoulder and then across your back, kissing the side of your head again, all in an effort to assure you, physically as well as verbally, that he’s right here, and he’s not leaving.

After a minute, Dean comes back into the room with the pot of coffee, the box of donuts, and two coffee cups. He approaches the table hesitantly, fills up both his and Sam’s cup, and then tops off yours.

Still close to you, Sam takes a drink of his coffee and asks, “What’re you reading about, anyway?”

“Umm. These things called Jefferson Starships? What the hell kind of name is that?”

Dean sits down across from you, and Sam and smirks just a little bit. “Dean discovered them; he picked the name.”

“Huh.” You wrinkle your forehead in confusion and barely look up at Dean. “Why?”

“Well,” Dean starts and tries to keep the hesitation out of his voice, but even though you’re not looking at him, you can still hear it. “Because they were horrible and hard to kill.”

Sam chuckles a little bit more and starts to gently rub your back again.

“Make sense, I guess…” You smirk, but don’t look up from your book. “I do have just one question about them.”

“What’s that?” Sam asks.

You thumb through a couple pages. “I get that they were like hybrids of a bunch of different monsters, but the city that you found them in, Grants Pass, Oregon…” Your eyes flick up to Dean just a little bit, barely catching his eyes, and then go back to your book. “I don’t see it in any of this stuff, but was the city built on rock ‘n roll?”

Dean snorts in his coffee, and Sam laughs. “That’s a good question, but no.”

“I hate that song,” Dean adds around a small laugh of his own.

“Everyone hates that song.” Your quiet laugh makes it a trio, and for just a minute everything feels almost normal. However the laughter doesn’t last, and it fades away into an uncomfortable silence that everyone feels.

You fidget with the frayed corner of your book, while Sam stares into his coffee, and you both feel Dean’s knee bouncing under the table. Just as your heart starts to pound, and when the room feels too small and too big all at the same, Dean surprises both you and Sam, by being the first to break. He shoves the last bite of his donut in his mouth and washes it down with the last of his coffee. “M’gonna go take a shower.”

Before either you or Sam can respond, Dean’s gone from the room.

Sam leans over and kisses the corner of your mouth. “You’re doin’ so great.”

After closing your book and putting it on the table, you blow out another breath. “Doesn’t feel like it. I just want things to go back the way they were. I don’t want _this_. I don’t want to _feel_ like _this_.”

Kneeling on the floor in front of you, Sam rubs your knees that are pulled tightly to your chest under his jacket. “It’s been barely two weeks, and I’m no expert, but I’d say you’re doing amazing; _you’re_ amazing. Every day, I can tell you’re getting stronger. You might not see it, but every day I can see differences.”

Sam’s words are so comforting to you; just being close to him is comforting. “You know,” you whisper after a few beats of silence. “I never thanked you for taking care of me.” You reach up and tuck a piece of Sam’s hair behind his ear. “I know this has been hard on you, too… Maybe even worse.” Sam gets this look on his face that you don’t understand, and he looks away. “What? What’s wrong?” Just like he’s done for the past two weeks, you gently lift his chin so he looks at you. “Sam, what’s wrong?”

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing; don’t worry about it.”

Untucking your legs from your chest, you put them down on the floor so they’re around Sam, who’s still kneeling. “Tell me, please?” You touch the side of his face softly. “You’ve helped me so much; let me help you.”

Sam closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be thanking me. I couldn’t… The ropes… I didn’t save you. I should have been able to stop _him_. I’m so sorry. I tried to, God, I swear I did; I just couldn’t, no matter what I did.”

Tears are rolling down both yours and Sam’s cheeks, but you wipe Sam’s away. “It’s not your fault, and it’s not Dean’s fault. He didn’t do it; _our_ Dean would never hurt me, and _you_ didn’t let it happen. I know you’d never let anything happen to me. How many times have you said that over the last two weeks? It’s the things _you_ said, the things _you_ did, and _you_ that helped me through this; it was _you_. You were always there. This isn’t your fault, and if I know that, so should you.”

Sam smiles a hesitant little half-smile and leans in to give you a light kiss. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

“I could say the same thing about you.” You kiss Sam once more. “I’m tired now, can we go back to bed?

He checks his watch and smirks. “I was hoping you were gonna say that.”

Sam leads you by the hand down to his room, where you both change out of your clothes and back into pajamas, then climb back into bed. Sam’s skin is warm when you rest your head on his shoulder, his heart rate is slow and comforting, and his even breathing is relaxing, and after he wraps his arms protectively around you, you fall asleep.

-

The shower Dean had used as an excuse to get out of the room, never happened, in fact, he barely got out of the room. He watches around the corner and sees his little brother encouraging you, he sees Sam use one of his most powerful weapons: his puppy dog eyes. However, Dean knows the puppy dog eyes aren’t like the ones Sam uses when they’re on cases; the ones that Sam uses to get information from crotchety old spinsters or scared girls. Dean can tell when Sam looks at you with those eyes, the concern, the need, the desire to help, the love, and the gentleness is all sincere, and it’s all very real.

Dean has never considered himself good at those things. He’s always thought of himself as rougher and maybe a little crass, and he definitely doesn’t have puppy dog eyes in his arsenal, but when he watches Sam kneel down in front of you, he’s glad that Sam is able to do some things that Dean isn’t.

It’s a painful revelation for Dean when he hears Sam confess the guilt he’s placed on himself; that Sam blames himself for something Dean did to you. Then he hears you open your mouth, and it’s just like you’re reading his mind, because Dean hears you take some of the encouragement and reassurance Sam has given you over the past few weeks, turn it around, and give it all to Sam.

Dean doesn’t think he deserves it, but hearing the words come from your mouth, the same words Sam told him one of the first nights he was ‘back,’ Dean’s oddly comforted by it. The words had been just words when Sam said them, but coming from you, they mean something.

Dean can’t comfort you the way he wants to, and he can’t take the guilt and the pain away for Sam, and he hates it, but he knows there’s nothing he can do about it. There just isn’t.

Like both you and Sam, Dean also has memories and flashbacks of what happened that night in the shack in the middle of the woods. Dean has nightmares about it, and sometimes they’re so horrible he wakes up and dry heaves in his trash can until he’s sobbing.

Sam’s told Dean several times that you both know it wasn’t Dean who terrorized you, but Dean thinks he knows different. He remembers every single thing he did when he was with Crowley, he remembers standing outside yours and Sam’s motel rooms in both Montana and Ohio, and he remembers very clearly being hunched down outside that drafty shack in the middle of the woods, just waiting until Sam was distracted and had his back turned. Dean remembers knocking Sam out first, and he remembers how he planned it that way.

Even when his eyes were black, and nothing in the world mattered to him, except for himself, Dean was stronger than he’d ever been in his life, but he still planned his attack carefully. Of course, Sam is stronger than you, so Dean knew he had to take out him first, then deal with you second.

“That’s _your_ Dean; he’d never hurt you.” Dean’s heard Sam tell you this more than once since he’s ‘been back,’ but he’s still not convinced that it’s true. Dean remembers the taste of your blood, he remembers the way you smelled, the way you fought him, how you tried to be strong, and it makes him sick. The memories disgust him so much that he can’t stand himself, and he physically becomes ill, but that’s not the worst part, not by a long shot.

Dean also remembers that he enjoyed it.

He enjoyed traipsing around with Crowley, the strippers, the bars, the selfies, and the girls. He even enjoyed killing Lester, but not as much as he enjoyed taunting Sam and letting you and his brother get _this close_ to finding him.

However, the thing that keeps Dean awake at night is how much he remembers enjoying the things he did to you and to Sam, that night in the shack. Maybe you and Sam are right, and it wasn’t Dean – not the _real_ him, but maybe he’s the one who’s right, and it was really him. Either way, it doesn’t matter which way you spin it because the truth is, Dean remembers; he remembers everything, and he knows he’ll never forget.

*//*

Sam’s been upstairs with Dean digging up some lore for a couple hunters that are working a case for them, and when one hour turns into two, you start to feel a little anxious about being away from Sam for so long.

You fidget with your hands, you pick at the stray threads of the blanket on Sam’s bed, you gather up a few articles of clothing from the floor and put them away, and you straighten the books on Sam’s shelf, but you’re still anxious. Part of you wants to go up to the library, just to sit next to Sam, just to be near him, and even though you sat with Dean at the big table for as long as you did, the thought makes your hands shake, so you stay where you are.

Sure, you could go into the kitchen and make yourself something to eat, or you could make yourself useful and wash the clothes in Sam’s laundry basket, but even the familiar task of laundry seems daunting and nerve-wracking; the large rooms and high ceilings of the bunker are just too big in the light of day.

A tiny smile curves on your lips when an idea presents itself in your mind: Dean’s upstairs with Sam, they’ve been up there for two hours now, and you assume they’ll be up there for a while, giving you the perfect opportunity to do the one thing that made you feel safe before you had Sam.

Your prized VW Beetle, your Ringo, was, at one time, your father’s, and when Sam and Dean would leave on hunts _before_ , when they would be gone for days, Ringo’s backseat was your place of refuge. Before Sam’s bedroom was your sanctuary, you would spend hours curled up in the backseat with a blanket and a book, and it felt just a tiny bit like home.

Taking a notebook off of Sam’s dresser, you quickly scrawl a note for Sam telling him you were going to go down to the garage, knowing he would know why you were going. Grabbing the extra blanket off of Sam’s bed to combat the chill of the bunker’s outer most perimeter, you take your book and make your way through the twists and the turns of the bunker, to the garage.

Once you flip on the lights, you walk around the neat piles of parts and odds and ends Dean left on the cement floor, passed all the vintage cars, and go straight for your canary yellow Beetle. When you reach your destination, you put your hand on the cool metal of the tiny car and whisper, “Hey, Ringo, did you miss me?”

The car doors are unlocked and once inside, you breathe in the familiar scent of home and let your mind go back to a time when you were a kid, with your dad, driving down the highway, singing along with The Rolling Stones that blasted from the factory speakers.

Ringo’s interior is small and confining, which is exactly what you need right now; just a little space to call your own, to curl up and feel safe. You’ve craved a change of scenery for the last couple days, Sam’s room being a place of refuge when the other high ceiling and open spaced rooms of the bunker felt too large and too open to stand for lengthy period of time. The backseat is perfect, and you wrap up in Sam’s blanket; the scent of home and Sam filling your nostrils, and you open your book to read about shape shifters, skin walkers, and werewolves.

-

Sam and Dean have been in the library trying to dig up some lore for a couple of hunters that are working a case for them. After two hours of not reading anything they’ve not read two hundred and sixteen times, Dean closes his book and tosses it into the pile on top of the table. “I can’t read this anymore. If this is all the Dusty Book Society has, then this is all there is.”

Sam closes his book as well and pushes it away. “Yeah, I’m not finding anything new either. “I’ll call Ray and Louie and let them know this is all we have.”

“Good.” Dean stands up from his chair. “I’m gonna go work on Ringo for a while.”

Sam knits his eyebrows together and looks up at Dean with confusion on his face. “You’re gonna what?

“_______’s car; it needs new idlers, and the timing belt is shot. I never got around to it… _before_.”

“Oh.” Awkward pause. “Dean, you know you don’t have to do—“

“Yes, I do.” Dean interrupts while he rubs the back of his neck. “I have to do something, and idlers and timing belt… _Those_ I can do.”

Sam doesn’t say anything, he just nods. After Dean’s left the library, one by one, Sam puts the books away and stacks the file folders into a pile. He knows that while everything has been difficult for both you and him, he knows it’s been difficult for Dean, too.

He knows his brother well, and he knows Dean’s the type of guy who feels responsible for things he has no control over, and this…the mark, what it did to Dean, what it turned him into, Sam knows it’s been eating Dean alive; he can see it.

When all the books and files are put away, Sam quickly makes his way down the halls to his bedroom, knowing that the last two hours have been the longest stretch of time you’ve been alone. Part of him hates that you’ve felt you had to lock yourself away from everything for the last couple weeks, but he knows it’s what you need. He’s told you on multiple occasions that you just need time, and he wasn’t lying when he told you he’s seen changes in you every day.

He’s woken up before you almost every morning, and he just takes time to watch you sleep. To him, you look so peaceful when you sleep, like you don’t have a care in the world, and you feel safer than ever wrapped in his arms. More than anything, he’s wanted to take away your pain and your fear, and even though he’s tried to encourage you and make you feel wanted and loved, he knows this is something you just have to work though.

Even though he knows this, and even though he’s seen you make so much progress in the past couple weeks, he still sees when you jump at his sudden movements or when you catch something out of the corner of your eye. It breaks his heart just a little bit when those things catch you by surprise, because he sees that look of fear flicker in your eyes, and he knows that just for a second, your fear brings you back to that shack in the woods.

It doesn’t happen every night, but still, it happens more often than it should, but some nights Sam wakes up to you sobbing into his chest or into your pillow. He tries to wake you slowly, so he doesn’t startle you. He kisses your forehead and your cheeks, while rubbing your back, and whispering things like ‘It’s just a dream; you’re safe now,’ or ‘I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.’

When you wake up, usually, you’re okay; there’s only been once or twice that you’ve pushed him away and asked him not touch you. Sam, of course, does what you ask of him, but he never goes far.

The terror in your eyes when you wake up from a nightmare, makes the protector in Sam come out, but it also brings out the guilt. The guilt still weighs heavily on him, and he still has feelings of blame for not being able to save you, but he tries to remind himself of the things you said to him that early morning not too long ago. In your fear and anxiety of being so close to Dean, you took every encouraging word and every comforting phrase he’d said to you and turned it around on him, and it helped. He knows what he said before was the God’s honest truth; to Sam, you really are amazing.

When Sam walks into his bedroom, he expects to see you lost in some thick and dusty lore book, wrapped up tightly in one of his blankets, eagerly awaiting his return, but he’s shocked to find his bed empty and you replaced with a hand written note.

Sam,  
Hope you and Dean found what you were looking for in the library.  
I’m in the garage, Ringo needs some company.

 -XO, ____________

After he reads your note, Dean’s words repeat themselves in Sam’s head, _I’m gonna go work on Ringo for a while. ______’s car; it needs new idlers, and the timing belt is shot._

Sam knows that you spend time in your car when you get homesick, and that it’s a place you go to feel safe. He pictures you snuggled up in the backseat of your car, lost in your book, and he knows that’s where Dean’s headed. He knows you’ve been doing so well the last couple of days, but Dean showing up out of nowhere, unannounced, when you’re all alone?

Your hand written note doesn’t even have time to flutter back down on Sam’s bed before he takes off in a sprint down the hallway.

-

Dean shuts his brain off when he starts to walk to the garage. The memories that are seared into his mind, haunt him every moment of every day, and it seems like when he’s alone they’re worse.

When he’s alone, it’s like his mind has its finger on the play button, and he has no control over what comes on next. His words and actions have become the stuff of nightmares, his subconscious tweaking and warping the already twisted memories into things Dean would do anything to scrub from his mind.

The lights are on in the garage when he opens the door, and he knows he didn’t leave them on. Sure, it could be coincidence that Sam came down here for some reason, maybe to get something out of the Impala, but Dean stops to let his eyes roam around. Of course, nothing’s _supposed_ _to_ be able to get inside the bunker; _supposed to_ being the key phrase, but Dean doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he knows he’s not alone in the garage.

He walks from car to car, looking underneath and inside. He goes from row to row, from the vintage Caddies, to the Coupes, to the Cruisers and the Town Cars, all the way down to your Ringo, and he frowns at the room. Dean can feel it; there’s someone in here, but where?

He checks the whole garage one more time, making sure to keep crouched low and quiet on his feet, but when he circles back to Ringo, he still doesn’t find anything. He groans and huffs to himself, then makes his way to the driver’s side door to pop the trunk, but when he opens the door, something bolts out of the backseat and ducks behind a white Town Car, three rows down.

Grabbing the nearest crowbar, Dean crouches down again and makes his way down the rows on stealthy feet. He pauses at the rear of the vintage Town Car, to grip the crowbar tighter and to gear himself up for whatever monster weaseled its way into the bunker. With a deep breath, Dean rushes around the back of the car, with the crowbar raised high, but he skids to a halt and drops it to the cement floor when he sees you huddled up in a ball on the floor.

Your face is as white as the Town Car you’re huddled up next to, and Dean can see your whole body shaking and the tears falling from your face. He kicks the crowbar away from him, and then regrets it a second later when you jump at the noise.

Slowly, he squats down with his hands in the air, level with his chest. He knows he should leave, he knows he’s scaring you, but the protector in him can’t leave you alone; not in the state you’re in right now.

Kneeling down on the floor at back tire of the Town Car, Dean tries to make himself as small as he can. He notices that your eyes are on him, tracking his every move, but they still won’t meet his.

“_____,” Dean says your name as softly as he can. “It’s okay; I’m not gonna hurt you.” It’s a shock to him when your eyes flick up to his, but he stays perfectly still; he won’t move until you do.

For a minute, you look into his eyes, and he looks into yours. To him, it’s almost like you’re studying him, maybe looking for something, and Dean tries to do the same to you, but all he can see is fear.


	9. No More Will My Green Sea Go Turn A Deeper Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of flashbacks to _before_ along with plenty of bunker feels.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

Ghouls piss Dean off; he hates ghouls. They’re nasty, they’re wicked, and they’re about as gross as monsters can get. They eat the flesh and blood of rotting corpses, and occasionally they get a wild hair up their asses and go for fresh meat, but seriously, they’re gross.

There haven’t been many times that he and Sam have gone up against them, but the time that he kicked in your parents’ front door and saw you strapped to the dining room table, Dean remembered how nasty ghouls really were. That was, in part, the reason Dean kept himself from you, and why he let Sam be the one you buddied up to.

Sure, it didn’t make much sense, but when Dean saw you strapped to that table and saw your parents ripped to shreds, it dredged up memories of Adam, which made him think about all the people he couldn’t, _and didn’t_ , save. Letting another person in, making friends with someone that he could potentially lose, was too much for Dean. Kevin was the last straw, and before that Ellen, Jo, Bobby, Ash, Pamela, Henry… The list really goes on and on, but Kevin was the last, and at that time, Dean had a load of shit on his plate that he had to deal with, so not getting close to you was just what he had to do. He didn’t want to fail someone else, and he didn’t want someone else hurt on account of him.

Another part of him wasn’t too hip to Sam’s idea of taking you in, because bringing a civi back to the bunker had never been a part of their plan, but Dean understood why: you were alone, your family was taken out by a pack of monsters, and he knew that feeling all too well.

Not too long after you’d taken up residence at the bunker, Dean made his way to the garage for a wrench to fix a leaking pipe of the kitchen, when he heard a noise that didn’t belong.

Parked in the far back of the garage was one of the ugliest cars Dean had seen in a long time, but through the back window, he could see you curled up in a ball, and the noise that he heard was you, crying.

He stared at the wrench in his hand for a minute and tried to decide what to do. Typically “comforting the girl” was Sam’s department, but, still, Dean had agreed to take you in, and that meant you were his responsibility, so he set the wrench down and made his way to the canary yellow VW Beetle. The whole way he grumbled under his breath, “Shoulda made Sammy come down at get the damn wrench.” Being a shoulder to cry on and working the puppy dog eyes have never been Dean’s forte.

You looked up at him with red and puffy eyes when he lightly tapped on the glass of the window and quickly tried to wipe your face. Dean opened the backseat car door and poked his head inside. “You doin’ alright, kiddo?”

It was a dumb question, and you both knew it, but you continued to wipe at your face and answered, “Yeah.”

“Ya need anything?” Dean watched you wrap your arms tighter around yourself and shake your head. Of course, Dean can spot a lie a hundred miles away, so he climbed into the tiny yellow car, sat next to you, and tried to think of the crap his brother would say. “I know you stumbled in on a whole mess of shit you probably had no idea went bump in the night, but you’re safe here; this is probably the safest place in the world.”

When you stayed quiet for a while, Dean looked out the window and thought about getting back to the leaky pipe upstairs and the assortment of bitch faces Sam was probably throwing his way for abandoning him with Old Faithful in the kitchen.

“It’s all so fucked up,” you whispered out of nowhere. “I just walked in and they were _eating_ my parents.”

“Yeah, it _is_ pretty fucked up; ghouls are disgusting, and if I didn’t say it before, I’m sorry about your parents.” He knew he wasn’t playing ‘What Would Sam Say’ very well. Talking to people the way he talked to you was about as far out of Dean’s comfort zone as he could get, but he knew it had to be done. “Sammy and I are pretty familiar with the territory; we can relate.”

“God, I’m so sorry.”

Dean shook his head at your sympathy. “I was just a kid when my mom… And it’s been awhile since my dad, but I get it, and I know it sucks. I wish we would have gotten there sooner.”

“I keep thinking the same thing. If _I_ would have gotten there sooner, I could have---”

“No,” he interrupted you, “If you would have gotten there sooner, they would have done the same thing to you.” He’s been around grieving and left behind family members long enough to know survivor’s guilt ate at people. Hell, he’s been dealing with survivor’s guilt pretty much his whole life, and while this was usually Sam’s job, Dean was there, and he gave you what you needed: he put his arm around your shoulder. “It’s not your fault; there’s no way you could have saved them.”

To Dean’s surprise, you leaned into him and sobbed into his chest. He didn’t say anything, he just let you cry, because it was what Sam would do.

“I’m not gonna lie, and I’m not gonna sugarcoat it; it’s gonna hurt like a bitch for a long time, but it gets better,” he told you after your sobs got quiet. “Sammy’s a little bit better with the whole ‘feeling your feelings’ thing, but you don’t have to come out here and hide. I know we’ve been on the road a lot, but if you need anything, we’re here. Don’t get me wrong, we’re no Dr. Phil-me in particular; we’re just as screwed up as everyone else, but you know…”

“Thanks.”

“Kay, I gotta get back inside. There’s a leaky pipe in the kitchen, and Sammy’s probably Googling how to build an arc by now, so I gotta go back. You wanna come with and help wrangle two of every animal, or are you gonna hang back for a while?”

“I’ll be back inside in a bit.”

“Good.” Dean smirked. “Maybe grab a lifejacket… just in case.”

-

He didn’t mean for it to happen, in fact, he was pretty resolved to _not_ let it happen, but it did; during that little conversation in the garage, Dean started to let you in.

However, he still tried to go with the original plan: let Sam be your buddy, but Sam caught on and let Dean have it.

“You’re being a dick.”

“Shaddup, Sammy, I am not; I’m a joy to be around.”

“______ thinks she’s in the way, and that we don’t want her here. That’s why she spends all her time up in the library. Just talk to her.”

“I _have_ ; we had a… _moment_ back in that piece of crap car of hers, and I’m _not_ what she needs. She needs puppy dog eyes and feelings, and that’s not me; that’s _all_ _you_ , Francis.”

“I’m not saying you have to swap life stories and watch Lifetime movies together,” Sam joked and ignored the Francis comment. “Just talk to her. Ask her what she’s been doing, thank her for washing your clothes, or you said her car is a piece of crap: _fix it_.”

Dean snorted. “There’s no fixin’ that thing. I could bring it to the junkyard, _maybe_.”

“You’ve rebuilt the Impala from the ground up, how many times? I think you can handle givin’ that--”

“Matchbox Car?”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. “Just do something. She thinks you don’t want her here.”

“Like what? What the hell am I supposed to say to her? ‘Ya like Busty Asian Beauties? ‘Cause I’ve got vintage copies.’ I don’t know what to say to her, man; this is your department.”

“She went to college… St. Scholastica, I think she said. She likes to read, she likes Sci-fi, and the movie, _Labyrinth_ … Just bring her a cup of coffee or something.”

“Fine.”

A week later, Dean stole your bacon and called you Short Stack. He taught you how to change oil, and that was that.

Sam and Dean got caught up in a few back to back cases, but Sam always made time to work on lock picking with you, even a little bit of research. Dean stuck with what he knew, he kept working on your car.

“Hey! Short Stack!” Dean yelled into the library, knowing you were curled up somewhere in the dusty stacks.

“Yeah?” You asked hesitantly because you and Dean still weren’t that close at the time.

He followed your voice and peeked around the corner of a big case of books, only to see you sitting on the floor with a dozen or so lore books around you. “Did some work on the tranny, but since your car is built for hobbits; I can’t drive it, so you gotta take Ringo for a spin. Let’s go get some lunch.”

After putting your bookmark in your book, you stood up from the floor and stepped into your shoes. “What was wrong with the transmission? It shifted just fine.”

Dean rolled his eyes playfully. “I think what _wasn’t_ wrong with it would be easier to explain.”

“You’re gonna give Ringo a complex.”

“Nah, just sprucin’ him up a little. C’mon, I’m starving.”

Both you and Dean jokingly bumped shoulders as you walked down the hallway to the garage. “Hey, should we ask Sam to come?”

Dean laughed. “And put him where? You think the resident Sasquatch is gonna fit in the backseat? We’ll get him some of that twelve grain, sunflower and poppy seed, quinoa crap he likes.”

“Hey!” You elbowed Dean in the ribs before climbing into your car. “That quinoa Sam made was good; you ate a whole plateful.”

He grinned and tossed you the keys. “Shaddup and drive.”

With your car speeding down the highway and shifting smoother than ever before, Dean dug through your shoe box of cassette tapes from the floor. “You got some good stuff in here, kiddo, but some of it is complete shit.” He motioned to your tape deck and what was playing through the speakers. “I mean, c’mon… The Bangles?”

You laughed at Dean and the look of disgust on his face. “There is no way you made it through early puberty without a crush on Susanna Hoffs.”

“Actually, I was more of a Vicki Peterson fan, myself.”

“Ha! I knew it!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean groaned. “But there is some good stuff in here too: Bad Company, Foreigner, Sabbath, Zeppelin. Oh, Zeppelin; we gotta listen to this!” Dean took out your Bangles mix tape and popped in Zeppelin, then cranked the radio’s volume as high as it would go.

“What was that thing you said about the driver picking the music?” You yelled over Robert Plant singing _D’yer Mak’er._

Dean laughed. “Just this one song, or are you gonna get mad, mad, mad?”

It was your turn to roll your eyes. “No, but Susanna Hoffs might get sad, sad, sad.”

Dean smirked. “She’ll get over it.”

*//*

For what seems like forever, Dean watches you watch him from your spot on the cold cement garage floor. He notices your eyes track every movement he makes: when he crouches down to the cold cement floor, when his jaw nervously clenches, hell, he even sees you carefully watch every time he blinks.

Part of Dean is proud. He taught you how to do this, how to take in every detail about your adversary, and how to read your combatant’s actions to anticipate their next move. He also notices you’re doing it very well, and at any other time he _would_ be proud, except you’re watching at him in the way he taught you how to watch monsters.

However, Dean’s got eyes too, and even though he can see you staring at him and watching him closely, he also can see that you’re shaking, your hands are gripping your knees so tightly to your chest that your knuckles are white, and there are tears falling down your pale cheeks that Dean wants to wipe away, but he doesn’t. On top of all that, the worst thing he sees and can’t ignore, is that you’re not breathing.

Moving as slowly as he can, Dean takes a small crouched step toward you, and just as he thought you would, you jerk away.  “______, it’s okay,” he tries to assure you, “I’m not going to hurt you, but you have to breathe.” When you don’t move a single muscle, Dean tries something else. “I’ll go. I’ll go get Sam and leave you alone, but you have to breathe or you’re gonna pass out.” After few seconds, he sees you drag in a breath, then he stands up to go get Sam.

“Don’t,” you whisper, and Dean barely hears you, but he stops.

“What?”

“Don’t go.”

“Okay…” He squats down on the floor about four feet in front of you, and the two of you just stare at each other. “Do you want me to call Sammy?”

You shake your head. “No service in here.”

“Right.” Dean watches you shiver, then notices you’re in a tee shirt and jeans. He sees one of the Letters’ thin blankets is on the floor behind you and a thick black-covered book that skidded on the floor and landed about two feet away from you. “Were you reading in the backseat of your car?”You nod your head, and Dean suddenly realizes he’s pretty much crouched down in front of a wild animal, so he looks down at this knees. No eye contact.“Does Sammy know you’re down here?”

You nod your head again. “Left him a note.”

“That’s good.” _So, when he finds the note, he’ll come hauling ass down here._ “Are you sure you don’t want me to go get him? Or I can go over there…away.” Dean looks at the opposite corner of the garage. “And you can go get--”

“Dean,” he hears you whisper his name so softly. “Stop talking.”

It’s his turn to hesitantly flick his eyes up from his knees to you, then quickly look back down. “What?”

“Shhh.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, Dean can see that you’ve not taken you’re eyes off of him. He can feel you looking over every inch of his face, and he can feel you trying to reach his eyes, but he won’t look up.

“Dean?”

He still doesn’t look up, but he answers, “Yeah.”

“Why can’t you look at me? I knew you wouldn’t be able to.”

Dean hears your voice crack, and he looks up at you. “What do you mean? I can look at you.”

“You don’t want to; I remind you of _everything_ , both you and Sam.”

He doesn’t see you flinch when he takes another crouch step toward you, but your eyes grow huge, so Dean stops. Now he’s three feet from you. “You don’t remind me of anything. This isn’t your fault.”

“Every day, we all try to get passed _it_ , but I hear you at night; you’re not doing any better than me. You wake up from nightmares just like I do, and you can’t even look at me because I remind you of _it_.”

“No.” Dean shakes his head and fights the urge to wipe the tears away from your cheeks. “That’s not it at all.” He watches you shiver again and pull your knees tighter to your chest. “______, you’re freezing; I should get you out of here.”

“No, because I’ll just go back in Sam’s room, and you’ll… I just need to look at you.”

“Why?” He doesn’t understand. Why would you _want_ to look at him after what he did to you? Why would you want _him_ to look at you? He watches you shiver again, so he slowly reaches for the blanket that is just two feet away from you. He has to take another crouch step forward and is surprised when you don’t shy away from him, but your eyes are still huge. “Here.” Dean carefully drapes the blanket over you, then moves back so he’s sitting in front of you on the floor; his boots are about eight inches away from your sneakers.

He notices that your eyes go back to studying him, and even though the guilt inside him is screaming for him to look away from you, he keeps his eyes on yours, because you asked him to.

“You look tired,” you whisper to Dean.

“Haven’t been sleeping much lately.”

“Me either.”

Dean’s eyes flicker away from yours, but then come right back. _You can do this for her_ , he tells himself, _She needs this._

“Did you and Sam find what you were looking for in the library?”

“Nah, nothing that we didn’t already know.” His eyes involuntarily move away from yours, and when he brings them back to you, they catch the black leather bound book on the floor. He stretches to reach it and feels you watch him, but to his surprise, you don’t move away. “So what were you reading about, anyhow?”

“Werewolves, skinwalkers, and shapeshifters.”

“Woah.” Dean attempts a smile at which he’s pretty sure he fails miserably. “That's not exactly light reading.” He sees you return the pitiful half-smile when you shake your head. “So… what ganks ‘em?”

For a few seconds you stay quiet, but then answer, “Silver.”

He watches your grip on your knees start to loosen, you’ve stopped shaking, and your tears have all but disappeared. “Yup; werewolves… they’re nasty suckers. Just one bite, and _hasta la vista_. Me ‘n Sammy’ve gone up against a couple, and let me tell you, they’re not Taylor Lautner.”

Dean watches you half-smile again, then you ask, “Was Warren right about them?”

“What?” He chuckles just a little bit, but is more confused than anything.

“Do they carry Chinese menus in their hands while they walk through the streets of Soho in the rain?”

Understanding your reference, Dean’s pretty impressed, but too stunned to do anything but stare, and he has to pause for a second. “Not that I’ve ever come across.” He laughs just a little bit. “But then again, I’m no Warren Zevon, and I’ve never even been to London, so, who knows.”

Dean knows things aren’t even close to back to normal, and they might never be, but both he and you smile, just a little bit, at the slightest taste of normalcy.

-

Neither you, nor Dean have noticed it, but Sam’s been standing in the doorway of the garage for the last ten minutes. He was about five sprints away from the door way when he heard the iron crow bar hit the cement floor of the garage, and he rounded the corner just in time to see his brother squat down in front of you.

At first, Sam was going to run right into the garage, scoop you up off the cold and dirty floor, and carry your panic-filled body down to his bedroom. He knows without a doubt that Dean wouldn’t hurt you; not _this_ Dean, but even from the doorway, nearly thirty feet away from you, Sam could see your whole body shake. Then something he didn’t expect happened: Sam heard Dean offer to go find him, but you told him ‘no’. Sam assumed you said 'no' because you didn’t want to be left alone, but as he watched you and his brother interact, he slowly learned that it was something else.

Several times now, you’ve told Sam that you wanted things to be normal, and that you’ve wanted to feel normal. He’s also seen you try to look at Dean and study his face, and Sam never really knew what you were doing, but in the garage, when he watched you look up at Dean with wide eyes, Sam figured it out.

Your mind, the logical part of you, knows that Dean would never hurt you, that Dean would go just as far as Sam would to protect you, but it’s your body and your heart that aren’t as logical. Sam’s realized that the last time you really looked at Dean, he was a demon; not _your_ Dean, and even though the demon looked just like Dean, there were subtle differences. The demon version of Dean held himself differently, he spat his words, his facial expressions were different, and his eyes were black.

Sam doesn’t know how he didn’t figure it out before, but now he sees that you’re studying Dean so you can spot those subtle differences, so you can find _your_ Dean. You’re trying to replace the memories of the _other_ Dean, the demon who continues to plague your dreams with the Dean in front of you; the _real_ Dean.

Guilt has been abundant in the bunker for the last couple weeks, but Sam was really only aware of his own guilt and Dean’s until he hears the things you say to Dean. It’s hard for both brothers to hear that you blame yourself for Dean’s inability to look at you, or that you think of yourself as a reminder of darker days, but it’s when you place all that blame on yourself, do things start to make sense to Sam.

The week before, you had started to tell Sam that if it weren’t for you, he would have found Dean more quickly. Then, you started to cry, and Sam never really thought about it, but having heard you blame yourself, it makes sense. Of course, he knows it’s not true, because it’s not your fault Metatron killed Dean; it’s not your fault The Mark of Cain took Dean over and turned him into a demon; it’s not your fault that Sam let you come on the road with him, and you were there when Dean stormed the shack in the woods; and in _no way_ is it your fault that the demon inside of Dean decided to use _you_ as a tangible threat to Sam. None of it was or is, in any way, your fault, but Sam gets why you might think otherwise.

Sam wasn’t able to save you, and he wasn’t able to save his brother. He wasn’t able keep his brother out of a situation that Sam knows will haunt Dean for the rest of his life, and that fact is one of the many things Sam will carry around with him for the rest of his life. He should have saved Dean, because how many times has Dean saved Sam?

Sam knows that Dean has his guilt for the things the demon version of himself did; _especially_ what he did to you and Sam. He also knows Dean has guilt for the way you’re feeling and the way you’re coping, and Sam knows you see that guilt on Dean’s face, then you blame yourself for making Dean feel guilty, which makes Dean feel guilty, and Sam can see it’s just a vicious cycle, but he doesn’t know how to stop it. However, he’s been watching you with Dean for the last ten minutes, and it seems like you’re at least pointed in the right direction.

This whole time, Sam’s never once doubted your strength, he’s never once doubted your ability to get through this situation, but while watching you sit in front of the man who looks just like the _thing_ that violated you in one of the worst ways possible, he realizes that even though he didn’t doubt your strength, he certainly underestimated it.

Sam’s leaning against the door frame, and he’s watching you face your fear head on. He’s seeing you look Dean in the eye and tell him to look at you, and even though he’s thirty feet away from you, Sam can see how strong you really are.

-

Dean’s ass is freezing on the cold concrete garage floor, but he doesn’t care, and he wouldn’t move for anything. He’s sitting next to you, there’s three inches of space between his shoulder and yours, but you’ve not gotten up and run in the opposite direction, so he considers it a good thing.

It’s been almost nine minutes and forty-three seconds of silence, and you’re still studying him; watching his face, and for the first time, he notices you’re not crying anymore. Your cheeks are tear stained, but the look of fear is all but gone, replaced with a look he would swear is determination; he just doesn’t understand why.

“_______, why are you---”

“Hey,” Sam says softly when he walks up to you and Dean sitting on the floor.

Dean feels you jump six inches up off the floor and grip onto his arm. He looks down at your hand, then up at your face, but before he can get a look at you, you’ve already bolted up off the floor and moved over to Sam.

“It’s okay.” Sam wraps an arm around you. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just saw your note and came down here to make sure everything was alright.”

“Yeah…” Both Sam and Dean watch you fidget with your hands. “Just cold.”

Sam rubs your bare arms with his hands. “If you want to stay in here, I can get you a sweatshirt or something.”

Your eyes still study your hands, but Dean sees them flick up to meet his eyes a couple times before settling back on your hands. “Nah, it’s okay. I’m freezing too,” Dean answers for you. “Why don’t you two go back inside; I’m just gonna do a couple things out here for a while.” As soon as he says it, he sees your eyes dart over to his, and he realizes his mistake: had he not said anything, there is a strong possibility you would have wanted to stay with him. “But if you want, you can stay down here with me,” he offers. “I’m just going to change a couple things out on your car.” He knows his offer doesn’t mean crap, because he can see the look on your face; you think he wants you to leave.

“No.” You shake your head. “I’m tired.”

Sam feels like crap because he came up to you and Dean when he did, but the seconds of silence pounded in his head, and he thought if nearly ten minutes of silence was awkward for him, it must have been for you as well. “Me too. We’ll find something to eat and then go to bed, okay?” You nod your head.

Before Sam leads you out of the garage, he tosses a look of apology at Dean, but Dean shakes his head in a silent, _don’t worry about it._

Dean watches you and Sam walk out of the garage, then he lets out a huge sigh. He can feel the mark burning on his arm, but he can also feel where your hands grabbed on to him, and where fingers were pressed into his bicep. You were scared, and it wasn’t because of him… You were just scared, and you looked to him for protection and comfort…just like you did _before_.

*//*

After a late supper of burritos, you and Sam are in his bedroom, and he grabs the _Labyrinth_ DVD off of his dresser.

“We never got around to watching this. We could watch it now, if you want.”

In spite of everything, you still remember Sam’s lack of appreciation for David Bowie in spandex, so you have to smile at him. “We can watch something else if you want. You don’t have to suffer through David Bowie for me.”

Mirroring your smile, Sam’s dimples show. “It’s been a while since I’ve watched it, and I’ll suffer through it for you.” He presses a soft kiss to your lips. “Today was a good day, you deserve it.”

Sam changed into a pair of cotton pants and a tee shirt, then went to go make a bag of popcorn, while you stole his button up shirt. When he came back to his bedroom, he pressed play, and you snuggled up against him to watch the previews.

Just a few minutes in, you sat up from Sam’s chest and grabbed your phone.

Sam paused the movie. “Who’re you calling?”

“No one. I just thought… Should we see if Dean wants to watch with us?”

“If you want, sure.” Sam studied your face that stared down at your phone. “Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know.” And you didn’t know. The time spent in the garage had been stressful, but it was also a bit of a relief at the same time. You got to look at Dean, you got to find the Dean that you remembered, and part of it had been just a little bit normal. “But he didn’t want me down there. He told us to go back inside.”

Sam kisses your shoulder. “That’s not what he meant. He thought you were uncomfortable, and he was just trying to give you an out. He didn’t _want_ you to go.”

“Oh. Then maybe I _should_ ask him if he wants to watch the movie with us, right?”

“If that’s what you want, but you know you don’t _have_ to do anything you don’t want to do, right?"

“What I _want_ is for things to go back the way they were. I don’t _want_ to be like this. I don’t _want_ to be scared. I don’t _want_ this.”

“I know.” Sam smoothes you hair and kisses the top of your head. “It won’t be like this forever; I promise it won’t.”

“Do you think he’ll come?”

“I think Dean would do just about anything for you.”

With shaky fingers, you tap Dean’s name in your messages.

 **You: Are you busy?**  
**Dean: Nope. Do you need something?**  
**You: Sam and I are watching a movie. Do you want to watch it too?**  
**You: Sam’s not a hoarder like you when it comes to Red Vines. So if you want a snack, you’ll have to bring your own. :)**

One minute passes, and you fidget with a button on Sam’s shirt.

Two minutes pass, and you steal Sam’s phone to send yourself a test message to make sure your phone is working.

Three minutes pass, and tears start to fall from your eyes. Sam rubs your back.

**Dean: Can I get a rain check? I’m pretty beat.**

A sob bubbles from your throat, and Sam wraps his arms around you. “It’s okay. ______, it’s not you.”

“Yes, it is,” you sob into Sam’s chest. “I remind Dean of what happened. He can’t get past it because of me. I make him feel guilty.”

“That’s not it; I swear that’s not what this is. I know you don’t think _that_ was Dean, but—“

“It wasn’t him,” you interrupt.

“I know it wasn’t, but Dean remembers everything. He remembers the things he did with Crowley, he remembers Lester… He remembers _everything_ , and he sees what that’s doing to you, and he doesn’t know how to fix it. He doesn’t think he _can_ fix it.”

You sit up from Sam and wipe the tears from your face. “I just want things to be normal.”

“I know my brother, and he does too; I swear he does.” _I know my brother; he just doesn’t think he deserves it._

Tapping on the message field once more, you reply to Dean’s message.

**You: That’s okay. Get some sleep.**

When five minutes have passed and Dean still hasn’t replied, you set your phone on the end table and push play on the remote. You and Sam start watch _Labyrinth,_ alone.

About thirty minutes into the movie, just as Hoggle accepts Sarah’s bracelet, you jump in Sam’s arms when something flies across Sam’s floor from under the door. He kisses the side of your head and peeks down to see what it is.

When he looks back up, he’s got a smile on his face. “It’s for you.”

“What?”

After reaching down on the floor, Sam pulls up a bag of Red Vines up from the floor and hands them to you. “I think these are supposed to be for you.”

“From Dean?” Your tears come back, but they’re not sad tears.

Sam wipes your tears away, gently pulls you back to him, and kisses you. “That would be my guess.”

-

With the sounds of Sam’s deep and slow breathing mixed with the end credits of _Labyrinth_ sounding in the darkness of Sam’s bedroom, you carefully get up from the bed.

Sam stirs. “Whrrya goin’?”

You chuckle softly and smooth the hair out of his face. “Just to my room for something; I’ll be right back.”

“Mmm’kay.”  

After quietly closing Sam’s door behind you, you walk to your bedroom, but stop and look down the hall at Dean’s closed bedroom door. There’s a dim light coming from beneath it, and you know he’s still awake.

There wasn’t anything you had to get out of your bedroom. You didn’t have any particular reason for coming out in the hall; you just needed some air.

After a minute of air, you suck in another heavy lungful and walk on your tiptoes to Dean’s door. Without letting yourself think - because if you do you’ll turn around and lose your courage - you knock on the door.

More quickly than you think, the door opens, and Dean’s _right there_. You feel the color drain from your face just a little bit.

“Hey,” he says hesitantly and takes a slight step backward.

“Hi.”

“You wanna come in?” You shake your head, and he walks back toward his bed, then sits down. “Is everything alright?”

You pick at the nonexistent crack in Dean’s wooden door frame. “I’m fine.”

“Good.” Dean nods his head. “That’s good. Where’s Sammy?”

“Sleeping; he fell asleep during the movie.”

“Oh. What did you two watch?”

“ _Labyrinth_.”

A small smirk fixes itself on Dean’s face. “Shoulda guessed.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry I didn’t… The movie… I just wasn’t sure…”

“It’s fine. It’s okay.”

“Yeah…” Awkward pause. “Did you find something to eat? I can make you something, if you want.”

“I’m fine. Sam and I ate burritos.”

“Good. That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet for a little while. You keep picking at the nonexistent crack and try to keep your hands from shaking.

Dean sees you shiver. You’re standing barefoot on the cold bunker floor and standing in the cool air in only Sam’s button up shirt. It’s huge on you, a dress really, but Dean still sees you shiver. “You cold?” He shrugs off his top layer of flannel and gets up off his bed to hand it to you.

Your feet, against your own wishes, take two steps backward. “I’m fine…really.” The look of shame and guilt is painfully obvious on Dean’s face, and you feel like shit. “I’m sorry…”

“You don’t have _anything_ to be sorry for.”

“It’s just… I don’t _mean_ to be… I don’t _want_ to be…” You sigh. “God, I don’t _want_ to be like this. I just…” You sigh again. “I’m just gonna to go back to bed.”

Dean sinks back down on his bed, looking down at the flannel still in his hands. “Okay.”

Turning on your heel, you start to take a step back toward Sam’s bedroom, but stop before you start. “Dean?”           

He looks up at you. “Yeah?”

You bite your lip to stop it from quivering. “I don’t _want_ to be like this. I know it wasn’t you; you’d never hurt me…not this you.”

Dean breathes out a heavy sigh and opens his mouth to say something, but he snaps it back shut. You watch him scrub his hand over his stubbly chin then rub the back of his neck.

Biting your lip didn’t help, and the tears start to fall down your cheeks. You look away from Dean and wipe them away with your hand. “I’ll get better,” you whisper, “I promise I will.”

He just shakes his head. “God… I’m so sorry.”

Letting out a heavy breath, you try to stop the sob that has been continuously growing in your chest, and you shake your head. “It wasn’t you.” Unable to look at the pained expression on Dean’s face and continue to be unable to do anything about it, you mumble, “Gonna go back to bed. ‘Night.”

Dean whispers back to you, “’Night,” but you’re about five steps down the hallway already.

Your body is shaking and your veins are coursing with grief and guilt and fear, but your brain is screaming for you to go back to Dean’s bedroom, that he won’t hurt you, that he’d never hurt you, and you stop cold in the hallway on your sixth step. “Go back,” you whisper to yourself, “Just go back. It’s Dean, _your_ Dean. Go back.”

Once again, your legs seem to have a mind of their own, and before you know it, you’re running back into Dean’s bedroom. He lets out a surprised grunt when you practically dive into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck in a hug.

Sobbing into Dean’s neck, you choke out, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

Hesitantly, Dean wraps his arms around you and returns your hug. “Shhh. Don’t cry.”

You feel his thumb making tiny circles in the middle of your back, and after a little while, you stop crying. “I missed you.”

He lets out a sound that sounds a little bit like a scoff. “You did?”

“Of course I did.” You move a little bit on Dean’s lap to look at him. “I was in here when Sam… Oh.” You look away again.

“Oh? _Oh_ , what?”

“You’re gonna be mad at me…”

“What? No, I’m not.”

The story of you in Dean’s room, going through his stuff, just falls out in a string on nonsensical rambling. “After you and Sam… _left_ , I… I went through your stuff, and I didn’t mean to, well, I did, but I had to know… You guys looked so… And I was scared, and you wouldn’t tell me anything, and I just wanted to know what was going on. I went through all your books and notebooks, and I didn’t know what the hell I was reading about, but I read it all, and I’m sorry. And then Sam came in, and you were…” You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I know I wasn’t supposed to…and I’m sorry.”

Dean can’t help but smirk at your babbling. “It’s fine; we should have told you. Don’t worry about it.”

“Kay.” Another awkward length of silence, and you realize you’re sitting in Dean’s lap. “Do you want me to go?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to, but if you want to…”

Dean’s long-sleeved shirt is still sitting on his bed, and he’s just wearing a black tee shirt instead of his usual layers. The Mark of Cain catches your eye, and you carefully trace it with your pointer finger. “It looks like it hurts… Does it hurt?”

“No.” He shakes his head and lies, because he could never explain the ways the mark continues to cause him pain.

“Good.”

Dean watches your finger trace the mark and after a little while he asks, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course you can.”

“How come… Why did you say you wanted to… look at me?”

Abruptly your finger stops, and you pull your hand away. “Dean… I can’t…”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

After a minute, you whisper, “No, it’s okay.” You take a deep breath knowing you’ve come this far, and for the first time in a long time you’re not petrified. “Sometimes it’s hard for me to get… _certain things_ out of my head.”

“You mean me.”

“No, I don’t mean you; that wasn’t you.”

“________, it really—“

“Before _this_.” You trace the mark again. “You would have never done…any of the things you did, right? You’d never do anything to hurt me, right?”

“Never, but ______, it’s not that---”

“Yes, it is; it has to be. _You_ would never hurt me, and Sam would never _let_ anything happen to me.”

“Sammy would never _let_ anything happen to you, but I--”

“No, Dean.” You shake your head and start to cry again. “ _You_ saved me. _You_ saved me when they ate my parents. _You_ took me in, and _you_ protected me; _you_ brought me some place safe. I need you to say it. You would never hurt me; that wasn’t you.”

“_____, it’s not--”

“Please? Sam says it all the time, and I repeat it in my head over and over and over again every hour of every day, but I need to hear _you_ say it. Please, just say it.”

You’re not looking at Dean, but you feel him pull in a deep breath and let it right back out. “I’d never hurt you, _ever_.”

He doesn’t say the whole thing, but there’s still an enormous weight lifted off of your shoulders. It’s quiet in Dean’s room, and for the first time in weeks, you’re about as relaxed as you can get. Your eyes start to get heavy, but you still look up into Dean’s eyes and smile. “ _Your_ eyes are green.” His forced half-smile is the last thing you see before your own eyes flutter closed, and you fall asleep.

Once you’re sleeping, you don’t hear the things that Dean says, but they’re the words _he_ needs to say, “I know you think the things you need to think about me, because it helps you cope and make sense of it all, but the truth is, I remember _everything_. I remember…” Dean sighs. He has to see the things he did in his head all the time; he can’t, and won’t, say them aloud. “The point is, I remember everything; they’re _my_ memories, and this is _my_ fault. Sammy and I, we brought you here because you didn’t have anybody, and you were our… _my_ responsibility, and I’m so sorry. If I could take it all back, I would; you have to know that I would in a second, but I know I can’t, and you and Sammy’ll have to carry this around forever. You shouldn’t have to; he shouldn’t have to, but _I_ should, because even though it wasn’t _all_ me… It was still me, and I’m so sorry. I know I can’t make it right.” Dean flinches when you shift in your sleep, and he kisses the top of your head. “I’m so sorry.”

You’re still asleep, and you didn’t hear a word that he just said to you, but you still murmur, “S’okay.”

Dean watches you sleep for a little while. He looks at your face, so calm and still and peaceful, and he does what you were trying to do in the garage, what you’ve been trying to for weeks. He tries to replace the vile and bloody images of you that have been burned into his memory with ones of you sleeping content in his lap.

“Hey,” Sam whispers, pulling Dean out of his thoughts.

“I don’t… How can she even be near me?” He looks down on you sleeping in his arms. “I’m sorry, Sammy. I didn’t mean…”

“She knows. She knows, Dean. Why else would she be here, if she didn’t know?”

Dean wipes his face and scoops you up to carry you down to Sam’s room.

Over the last couple of weeks, you’ve been petrified of Dean. There were many times when you couldn’t be in the same room as him, let alone even look at him, but now he’s carrying you in his arms, and you’re fast asleep. Just hours ago, you were scared to even let him touch you, and Dean doesn’t know what he did, or what he said to make some of that go away, but it did. You looked at him, spoke to him, and even smiled, and it’s more than he could have ever expected or hoped for or even deserved, but it happened.

After he lays you in Sam’s bed, he carefully pulls the covers up to your chin, then walks back out into the hallway. “She told me she missed me.”

“Of course she did,” Sam answers. “You said you wanted to make this right… To her, you just did.”


	10. Maybe Then I'll Fade Away and Not Have to Face the Facts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Dean have begun to reconnect, but that doesn’t mean things are perfect. Your mind thinks and knows one thing, but there’s still a part of you that’s still back in that shack in the woods, and Dean feels it in his own way, too.  
> Partial nudity, staring Sam Winchester. ;)  
> All including a special side order of angst.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

Sam’s been watching you sleep for hours. It’s almost seven o’clock in the morning, but Sam always gets up early. He looks at you, sleeping soundly against his bare chest, and he thinks you were so strong yesterday; he’s so amazed. In the time he’s known you, you’ve gone from a normal, average, apple pie person, to someone who survived a ghoul attack, and then you came to live with them.

Sam remembers when you were lonely and felt out of place. He remembers the first time he really talked to you, and how quickly the two of you became friends. He remembers being in your bedroom, watching _Star Wars_ , and he remembers realizing the exact moment that he didn’t want you as _just_ a friend. He also remembers realizing that he might have figured things out too late.

But he didn’t.

So many things have happened between then and now, and so many things have changed for both you and Sam, but not the way he feels about you. He’s seen you happy and sad, he’s seen you lonely and scared, and he’s seen you strong and fierce.

More times than he can count, he’s told you that nothing the monster inside his brother said to you, that night in the shack or in room 7B, was true. Still, he’s seen you battle with your insecurities and the guilt you've placed on yourself, but for last little while, Sam’s been watching you sleep in his arms, and you look more peaceful than you have in weeks. He’s realized a lot over these past few weeks, and one of those things is that the monster, that night in the shack, said just one thing that is the absolute truth: Sam really does love you.

He's known for sometime that he loves you, but the thought and the realization still hits him hard. He's known since before that awful night in the shack in the woods, when the two of you were looking for Dean, but it wasn't the time to say anything. Now isn't the time either; he wants it to be right, so he just lies in bed next to you, listening to your gentle breathing.

Shortly after, you stir next to him. He pets your hair, to ease you gently from sleep to awake, and it earns him a sleepy smile from you.

“Hi,” you murmur up at him.

“Hey.” Sam kisses your forehead. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good; really good. _Wait_ … How did I… The last thing I remember, I was in Dean’s bedroom.”

Sam kisses your forehead again. “You fell asleep, and he brought you to bed.”

“Oh.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, m’fine. Last night was just… In the light of day it’s… _overwhelming_ , maybe?” You sigh. “I don’t know.” Out of frustration with yourself, you bury your face in Sam’s chest.

Sitting up from the bed, just a little bit, Sam leans against the wall behind his bed, and takes you with him. “It makes sense that it’s a little overwhelming. You did a lot yesterday: being with him alone in the garage, inviting him to watch the movie with us, and talking to him in his room. Two weeks ago, you probably wouldn’t have been able to do that.”

“There’s _no way_ I could have.”

“See?” He takes a minute to kiss you softly. “I’m gonna go get us some coffee and breakfast, and we can take it easy today, alright?” After you smile and nod your head, Sam kisses the tip of your nose and gets up from bed.

Taking Sam’s spot, blankets, and pillows, because they’re warm and smell nice, you lean against the wall behind his bed and pull your knees up to your chest. With your chin resting on your knees, you watch Sam’s back muscles flex when he lifts his arms above his head to put on a blue V-neck tee shirt and pull it down over the top of his black and white plaid flannel sleep pants.

“Any requests?” He leans across the bed and steals another kiss.

“Coffee.”

“’Kay, be right back.”

*//*

Dean’s been awake all night. He carried you into Sam’s bedroom, then had the little chat with his brother in the hallway, and he’s been awake since then, just going over every little detail in his head.

It’s forever burned into his mind, exactly what he did to you: how he hurt you, violated you, ripped you open, bruised your skin, and broke your heart, and he knows the visions and memories of you sobbing and pleading beneath him, will never go away. He doesn’t know what’s worse: those memories, or the _things_ he said to you.

He knows that it’s not only his actions and what he _did_ to you, that continue to mess with your head, but it’s also the things he _said_ to you. Not only did he say filthy and vulgar things to you, but he also said horrible, hateful, and cruel things to you as well, and now that Dean’s _Dean,_ he thinks about them all the time, but he just doesn’t have the first idea what to do to make it right, or even if it _can_ be made right.

At Sam’s request, and after Dean lost at damn Rock, Paper, Scissors, _again_ , you came to live at the bunker, and if Dean were being honest with himself, he’d admit that, at _that_ time, he didn’t want you there. Civis don’t belong in the bunker; civis belong out in the ignorance-is-bliss _real_ world, living their apple pie lives, going to barbeques and footballs games, and even though, there was part of him that didn’t think you belonged, you made your way _in_. You got his jokes, enjoyed his music – though he doesn’t always enjoy yours – you appreciated his love of classic cars, and you worked so hard to impress him, that the way he feels about you, was bound to happen.

Dean’s never had a sister, but if he did, he’d want her to be something like you. Sure, there was a time when he thought things might have spun a little differently, and you would have been something to him that was on the _opposite_ end of the spectrum from sisterly, but deep down, he always knew what you were to him.

You were once the Leia to his Luke, and Dean wants so much to get back to that. The question he keeps asking himself is: does he deserve it?

In addition to the crap that will never leave his brain, he’s been running through every last detail of the time the two of you spent alone in the garage and in his bedroom. You begged him to look at you, and he watched you stare at every detail of his face, watched you study each one of his blinks, and watched you just _look_ at him. Part of him let you look, because there was a tiny sliver of himself that thought if you could find the _him_ from before, maybe he could, too.

Sure, Dean knows he’s ‘back,’ for all intents and purposes, but the thing that has been screaming inside his brain all night, is that he still feels like what he _was_ , that night in that shack in the woods, is still a part of him. He feels like it’s hiding just under his skin, and no matter what, he’ll never scrub it clean. He can’t figure out how you and Sam can’t see it, because Dean thinks he still sees the monster that he was, every time he looks in the mirror.

Last night, in his bedroom, he watched your eyes flutter closed, then look back up at him, and he remembers what you said:  _your eyes are green._ Of course his eyes are green; they’ve always been green, but Dean can still feel that blackness inside him, and sometimes, when his thoughts get away from him, and he doesn’t pay attention, it feels like his whole world’s gone black, but he fights it. He fights it for Sam, and he fights it for you, and even a little bit for himself. Dean doesn’t want to be evil; he doesn’t want to be bad; he wants to be the man you’ve spent time searching for in his face. He wants it more than anything.

When Sam walks up next to him, early in the morning, Dean has to check his watch, because he has no idea what time it is. Technically, to him, it’s still yesterday. He hasn’t been to sleep yet, but he forces a look of something resembling _awake_ on his face, and hides the frown he’s been making down at the newspaper laid out in front of him.

“Anything in the papers?” Sam asks when he pauses at the table.

“Nope; same shit different day. I made coffee and went out to get some food for you and Short --” Dean catches himself at the last second. _Short Stack_ : Dean’s been calling you that for months, it’s habit, but he’s glad you weren’t there to hear it. “For you and ______,” he corrects himself, "It’s in the fridge.”

Sam tosses him a sympathetic look, but doesn’t say anything about the slip. “Thanks. She’s awake and hungry, so that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah,” Dean answers when Sam walks into the kitchen. “That’s good.” He folds, unfolds, and then refolds his newspaper until Sam comes back out of the kitchen.

“Saved you some coffee.” Sam tells him while he tosses a grape into his own mouth from the tray in his hands.

“Breakfast in bed, Sammy?” Dean teases a little bit. “That’s mighty kind of you.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

“You shut up… Bitch.”

Sam chuckles and starts to leave the room. “Jerk.”

“Hey, Sammy?” Dean stops his brother before he’s in the hallway.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think…uh…Do you think I’ll ever be able to call her _that_ again?”

Sam shrugs his shoulders just a little bit. “I hope so.”

“Me too.”

*//*

After Sam’s gone on a quest to find you both coffee, you go down to the bathroom to quickly wash away the morning, and when you’re back in Sam’s bedroom, so is he, and he has a tray of, not only coffee, but bagels and fruit, too.

“Wow! Breakfast in bed?”

Offering you a cup of coffee and a grin, Sam pats the bed next to him. “Careful, it’s hot.”

For over an hour, you and Sam sit cross-legged in front of each other, with the tray of breakfast between you. He tries to give you all the fruit, and you feel your cheeks turn pink when he wipes away a smudge of cream cheese from your lip, but he dribbles coffee on his shirt, so you both laugh at that.

When all that remains are a couple uneaten bites of bagel, a couple mushy grapes, and cold coffee dregs, Sam puts the breakfast tray on his desk and tosses the blue, coffee-stained shirt in the laundry basket. Once he’s back into bed, you curl up next to him with your face tucked under his chin, and Sam lightly drags his fingertips up and down your back.

Humming in appreciation into his skin, you say, “Thanks for the breakfast.”

“You’re welcome.” He kisses the top of your head again.

“Do you have anything you have to do today?”

“Not so far. Dean was reading the papers when I went to go get coffee, and he said he didn’t see anything. Do _you_ have any big plans?” He chuckles, teasingly.

“Oh, yeah,” you answer sarcastically. “ _Loads_. People Skills 101, How Not to Be Scared of Everything, The Logistics of Breathing…”

“Hey, you’re doin’ great, and you know how to do those things. Don’t beat yourself up. No one is expecting you to be one hundred percent overnight; it’s gonna take some time, and that’s okay.”

“I just… I keep setting up these milestones in my head, and I keep telling myself that if I can get to them, I’ll be better. I thought that by leaving your bedroom, I’d feel… _different_. Then, when I didn’t, I told myself that talking to Dean would change everything, and I’ve done that now. I got to look at him, I got to really _see_ him, and he said the things that I needed him to say, but I don’t feel any _different_. There’s still that part of me that’s… stuck or scared or … Ugh. I don’t know.”

Wrapping his arms around you, Sam pulls you closer to him. “You’re doing so well, and you’ll get there, I promise.”

After giving Sam a kiss, you lay your head back down on his chest. “How are you like this?”

He smirks and kisses the top of your head. “Like _what_?”

“The crap that you’ve been dealing with, practically your whole life… I mean, how are you so patient and…positive?

“ _Positive_? I don’t know about that. I just know _you_ , and I know you’re not just gonna roll over and let this wreck you; that’s not you. How many tries did it take, and how many lock picks did you break before you finally busted into that first lock? How many pies and burgers and sandwiches and steaks did you make for Dean before he finally gave in? How many hours and days and weeks did you spend in the shooting range, pissing Dean off because you keep using up all his bullets? And your parents? You didn’t let any of those things slow you down; you pushed through until you figured it out, and I know _this_ is going to be the same. I know _you_.”

Taking a moment to look up at Sam and his soft eyes that look at you, you let his words really sink in to your mind. He has faith in you, and no matter how broken you’ve felt in the last few weeks, that faith has never faltered. Then a thought crosses your mind: _Maybe if Sam believes all the wonderful things he’s just said, I can too?_

As a wave of confidence in yourself washes through you, you lean up to kiss Sam, but as soon as your lips touch his, something sparks inside of you that you haven’t felt in a long time. The feeling behind your kiss isn’t the same as the soft kisses you’ve shared with Sam so far this morning; this is _different_ , and suddenly, you _want_.

A small groan exits Sam’s mouth when you kiss him hard on the lips, and when his tongue finds yours, he massages it gently. One of his hands holds your shoulder while the thumb of his other hand rubs your cheek, and somehow it soothes away any thoughts of fear and anxiety.

“Sam,” you pant his name between kisses, pushing yourself even closer to him. “I need…”

He kisses down your chin and under your jaw and answers the exact way you did that night back in Montana, when he _needed_. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“I’m not…” Your fingers trail down his chest and abs. “I’m not ready for… But I still… _Please_ , Sam, I need… _want_ …”

He pulls his face away from your neck, looks up at you, and the two of you breathe heavily in each other’s faces. “Are you sure?” After you nod your head, Sam rolls you onto your back, then kisses the tiny patch of skin that shows around the collar of his plaid shirt you’ve borrowed. “All you have to do is tell me to stop, and I promise I will, okay?”

“I know.” And you do, but when he pops the first snap of your shirt, you take in a sharp nervous breath, and Sam instantly understands. Taking his hands away from your snaps, he gently brushes his fingers over to points of your nipples that press up into the cotton shirt of his you’re wearing.

When he can actually see tension leaving your body, and can see you slightly roll your hips at his feather-light fingers, he takes it as a sign and moves his mouth down to a peak in the fabric. His mouth sucks one of your nipples softly though the material, making a wet spot when he continues to lap at it and gently drag it though his teeth.

The oversized shirt you’ve borrowed from Sam, has bunched up around your middle, and when he moves over you so he can pay the same cotton-covered attention to your other nipple, you can feel his fingers gently rub the exposed skin of your stomach. Each time his fingers touch your skin, a little bit of anxiety melts away, and a little bit of you – the _real_ you – comes back.

Another groan comes out of Sam’s mouth when your hips move up against his, and his fingers move down between your legs. He barely touches you though the cotton of your damp panties, when he looks up at you. Your eyes are closed, and your mouth is opened with small moans coming out along with heavy breaths. “You doin’ alright?”

“Yeah.” You nod your head and lick your lips, the sight causing Sam’s eyes to roll back in his head and another heavy groan to fall from his mouth.

After he leans up to kiss your open mouth, he kisses his way back down the closed snaps of your shirt until he reaches the waistband of your panties, while his fingers continue to rub your soft folds through cotton. When your hips press up against is hand, he pushes himself up on his knees and hooks his fingers around the tops of your panties to start to pull them down your legs.

For just a second, there’s a flash in your head of all too familiar situation, and out of instinct, your hands tightly wrap around his wrists to stop him. Of course, Sam immediately stops, but he also bends down to kiss the tops of your fists. “It’s okay,” he gently reminds you, “All you have to do is say the word, and I promise I’ll stop.”

You look up into his soft hazel eyes and shake the flash from your mind. _This is Sam_ , you tell yourself, _you’re safe in here. He would never do anything to hurt you; you’re okay. _Slowly, you take your fists away to press one of your hands into his chest, directly over his heart. “Don’t stop.”

After kissing your bare skin peeking out from under his plaid shirt, he slowly pulls off your panties and tosses them aside. With careful hands, Sam nudges your thighs apart, caressing your skin delicately and soothing away any traces hesitation, then softly runs one finger up your slit. When he sees your eyes flutter closed again, he gently parts your lips and makes a small circle around your clit with his thumb.

Gasping at the gentle touch, you pull your parted knees up, and Sam kisses down your thighs, ending with him positioning himself so he’s lying on his stomach between your legs.

Still keeping his thumb making circles around your clit, Sam traces your opening with the thumb of his other hand, then gently presses one finger into you, when he hears you whisper his name. Taking care to be vigilant, watching your face for any signs of discomfort or panic, he slowly moves his finger in and out of you, curving it up to rub against your g-spot with every motion, and he kisses the unmarred skin of the inside of your thigh, tonguing it and sucking just a little bit.

A whine comes out of your mouth when you feel him slide a second finger inside of you, and his thumb on your clit goes away, but when his mouth takes its place, you cry out, “Sam!”

“It’s okay,” he groans from between your legs, even though he can hear absolutely no trace of panic in your voice, “I’m right here.” Still wanting to reassure you, his free hand reaches up to find your fist that’s wrapped around the sheet, and he threads his fingers between yours. “I’m right here,” he repeats, then licks a broad stripe up your clit.

While slowly moving his two fingers in and out of you, Sam’s tongue laps in your folds, and your hand grips tighter to his. With your hips making time with his fingers, he works his mouth over you, alternating between licks and flicks of his tongue and gently sucking your clit into his mouth.

When he feels your slick walls clench around his fingers, he rubs against that spot inside you and makes his tongue move faster, sucking just a little bit harder.

“Please… Oh, Sam,” you whimper, “Please, don’t stop.”

In response, meaning that he won’t, Sam moans between your legs and looks up at you, while his tongue keeps moving, to see your head pressed back into the pillows and your hair spread out around you. It’s when your eyes open and catch his, does he groan so deeply that the mixture of his tongue, fingers, and the vibration from his mouth, instantly makes you come.

As the world around you seems to dissolve, a powerful orgasm rips through you. With your hips rocking against his face and his mouth, your hand keeps a tight hold of his, and you moan loudly at the delicious contrast of pleasure versus the different types of pain you’ve been subjected to in the recent weeks.

Sam eases his fingers out of you and licks you softly through the aftershocks. When your knees relax and fall flat to the bed, he kisses up your thighs, your middle, and around the wet spots he made on the cotton plaid covering your chest, then lies down next to you, pulling you close.

For a few minutes you lie in his arms with your face in the juncture of his neck and shoulder, while his fingers rub up and down your back. For those few minutes, nothing else in the world exists except for you and Sam.

When your breathing starts to go back to normal, Sam kisses the top of your head. “I’ve missed that; I’ve missed you.”

You groan softly into his slightly sweat damp skin. “I did too.”

Feeling Sam’s warm breath on the top of your head and his fingers still rubbing up and down your back, out of the corner of your eye you can see that Sam is hard, probably _painfully_ hard in his flannel pajama pants. Wanting to take care of Sam, in turn, you plant another kiss on the stubbly skin of his jaw and let your hand trail down his middle, to the draw string of his pants.

Sam bites back a groan. “Just because _I_ … It doesn’t mean _you_ have to.”

“I know.” You kiss down his clavicle and sternum, any sort of fear or anxiety you once had about anything, is now just a momentary distant memory, replaced with strength and confidence. “I _want_ to; I’ve missed _you,_ too.”

As soon as you say the words, Sam groans heavily and brushes your hair out of your face, in return you kiss the palm of his hand, then move your mouth back to his chest.

The taste of Sam’s skin against your tongue: the earthy tang of sweat, mixed with soap, and something uniquely _Sam_ , makes you sigh into his skin as you lick, nibble, and suck your way from his chest down his abs. Another raspy deep sound comes from Sam when you untie the drawstring of his pants, and he lifts his hips when you pull at the strained flannel covering his lower half.

He kicks away a pair of boxer briefs, tangled in yards of plaid, and you inhale, then exhale, a deep appreciative breath when you look down on him. Once again, nothing outside the safety of Sam’s bedroom – nothing outside of Sam and his bed – exists in the entire world, and just like he did, you slide down Sam’s body and place yourself between his spread legs. Without an ounce of hesitation, you lick up the sensitive underside of his weeping cock, and hear the gravelly sound that comes from deep within Sam’s chest, mixed with his needy breathing above you.

It seems like years since you’ve heard him make such sounds, and your want and need from before morphs to something completely different: you _want_ to make Sam feel as good as he made you feel.

Under your hands, you can feel the strong muscles of his thighs clench when you swirl your tongue around the tip, and a litany of groans come from Sam, when you take him, inch by inch, into your mouth. When you take as much of him as you can, his hard shaft throbs, needy on your tongue, and you start bob your head up and down, gradually adding more suction with each movement.

It’s been a while since you’ve heard Sam make the sounds he’s making, but they’re unmistakable, and you know he isn’t going to last long. Even still, you work your mouth over him, your tongue swirling and circling, picking up heavy dribbles of precome with every lick, and you can feel that Sam is working in earnest not to move his hips up against your mouth.

With one of your hands cupping the textured skin of his balls, the other, pumping up and down his rigid length, your mouth works over the head of his cock, coaxing the crest you know he’s been craving to reach.

“______,” Sam grits out your name, followed by a few needy whines, and all it takes are a few tight pumps of your hand and one last swirl of your tongue, and his back arches slightly, followed by an even deeper and guttural moan than before. With his hot come spurting into your warm mouth, you groan in satisfaction along with Sam and around his length, working your tongue and mouth over his near-constantly throbbing cock.

With your tongue soft, you lick away all traces of his come until his abs and thighs clench from sensitivity, then he reaches down, grabs you under your arms, and pulls you up to him. When he kisses you, it’s a mixture of you, him, and that unmistakable taste of _Sam_ , and you both groan into one another’s mouths.

“I’ve missed that,” you whisper between kisses, “I’ve missed you.”

Sam chuckles breathlessly against your lips. “I’ve missed you, too.” After pulling the sheet out from under himself, he covers you both, and together you spend the rest of the morning and afternoon in Sam’s bed; the outside world and all its anxiety, completely forgotten.

The rhythmic _thump-thump_ of Sam’s heart under your ear, mixed with the two of you breathing is all you can hear, and you’re more relaxed than you’ve felt in a long time. It feels like ages since Sam pulled you up on top of him and wrapped his arms around you, and you feel like you would be content to stay right where you are for twice that long.

It’s quiet in Sam’s bedroom, it’s warm in his bed, under the sheet and on top of him, and the little circles his thumbs continue to make into your skin feel amazing.

“You doin’ okay?” Sam asks, interrupting your thoughts.

You fold your arms up top of his chest and prop your chin up so you can look at Sam. “M’good.” You give him a smirk. Why?”

“You’ve just been quiet, that’s all.” He brings a hand up to your face and rubs your cheek bone. “I know… _this_ was probably a big step for you.”

“With you, it’s…different. I mean, sure, _this_ was one of my milestones, but, I don’t know, it’s just…different.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“In here, in your room, when it’s just _you_ , I’m not scared all the time, not like I was, and even though I know nothing _out there_ is going to hurt me, I don’t feel as afraid in here, as I do when I’m out there. I trust you; I’ve _always_ trusted you, and every time I get scared or nervous or whatever, it’s _your_ voice that I hear in my head. And I know this might sound weird, but in a lot of ways, _this_ was easier than anything out there...because it’s you.”

He smiles at you. “It doesn’t sound weird. I get what you mean, but you do know that you’re safe out there too, right?”

“Yeah, I know, but it’s like _I_ know, yet there’s this other part of me, and that part isn’t quite there. That other part of me is still afraid, _all the time_ , and sometimes, when I’m not in here, it kind of… _takes over_.”

Sam reaches up to kiss you. “And that’s okay. You can stay in here as long as you want to, and you are safe in here, but you’re also safe out there, because I mean it when I say, I won’t let anything bad happen.”

“I know.”

“And as far as _this_ is concerned…” Sam pauses to trace your shoulder and arm. “I’m good with whatever you’re comfortable with. If _that_ was too much, that’s okay too.”

“It wasn’t too much. It was the first of the milestones I set in my head that actually did what I hoped it would do.”

Sam remembers earlier when you mentioned the milestones you’ve set for yourself, and how you’d wished the earlier ones had made you feel different. “ _This_ made you feel different, like something’s changed?”

“In a lot of ways, yeah, I do feel different, and just now things _have_ changed; I can _feel_ it. There was a long time where I couldn’t even think about anything like _this_ , but over the last few days, being with you would occasionally cross my mind; I just knew, _then_ , I wasn’t ready, but it was different this time. I felt strong enough to tell you what I wanted, but that’s not it, not completely. _This_ …being with you, it made me feel like _me_ again, like a part of myself that I lost or shoved away, came back, and it made me feel strong again. And I know you’ve been saying that this whole time, but I needed to see it for myself.”

“Good, because _you_ _are_ strong.”

“ _In_ _here_ , with you, I know I’m strong, but _out there_ , the other part of me that’s scared _all the time_ , it’s not strong. There’s a part of me that’s still stuck… _back there_.”

“Back there?” As soon as he asks the question, he watches the light go out of your eyes, the ease in your features disappear, and he knows exactly what you mean.

“In the woods… _That_ night… There’s a part of me that still feels like I’m back there, and I try to ignore it, because I know I’m not there; I don’t have to be scared; I’m safe now, but it’s still… That part of me is still _there_.

Sam pulls you closer to him and wraps his arms around you like he can block out every bad force in the world.

*//*

It’s late in the evening, when both you and Sam finally emerge from his bedroom. It’s your stomachs that finally get the best of you, and you both venture to the kitchen for some much needed sustenance.

It’s happy giggles from you, and goofy puppy-grins from Sam, around each corner and down every hallway of the bunker, but the real world, the world _outside_ of Sam’s bedroom, floods back, abruptly. It’s when you round the corner into the main room of the bunker and see Dean sitting there with a book laid out in front of him, that the _other_ part of you takes over, and Sam can actually see it.

Sam sees the strong part of you fall back and the _other_ part of you, the scared and petrified part of you, take over. So, before he leads you any further, he moves himself so he’s between you and Dean. “Hey,” he whispers softly, so only you can hear his words, “It’s okay. Nothing _out here_ is gonna to hurt you. That’s _your_ Dean; it’s _just_ Dean, alright?”

“Yeah,” you answer more mechanically than you actually mean to and nod your head, trying to make that _other_ part of you, the _scared_ part of you, go away. “It’s okay; I’m okay. I’m just going to go in the kitchen and find some food.”

“I’ll be right here when you come back out.” He bends down and kisses you. “Right here.”

You nod your head and make your way through the room to the kitchen, giving Dean a half-smile that makes you feel like shit, but it’s all you can muster. When you’re gone, Sam sits down at the table across from Dean.

“Didn’t mean to freak her out.” Dean closes his book and shoves it away, clearly disgusted with himself.

“She knows,” Sam answers and silently wishes Dean could get the chance to see the leaps and bounds you’ve really made. He wishes Dean could see how strong you are when you feel safe, when you feel like you don’t have a care in the world, when the light is back in your eyes.

“I thought after we talked last night, things would get better.”

“They did.” Sam hides a small smirk when he thinks about how things _really_ _did_ get better. “She said she was just a little overwhelmed; she did a lot yesterday, but she’s getting better. It’s just gonna take some time. There’s part of her that just isn’t there yet.” Sam borrows your words, thinking to himself, _And that’s the part of her you just saw._

Dean rubs the palms of his hands on his thighs and clears his throat. “Ray and Louie called about that case they’re workin’ on…”

“Yeah? And?”

“Four hunters are better than two.”

Sam lowers his voice, “Dean, I don’t think…”

When you reach the doorway of the main room of the bunker with three plates of food in your hands, you pause to push away the scared part of you, and collect yourself, but when you take that pause, you hear Sam’s voice, and his words trail off. Even though you know it’s rude to eavesdrop, you can’t help yourself.

“Sammy, I can’t sit here anymore. I can’t sit here and do nothing and watch her be afraid of me; I have to get out there and do _something_. I’m not used to sittin’ around like this.”

“I know.” You hear Sam agree, and when you peek around the corner you see him run his hand through his hair. “I’m not either,” Sam continues. “I want to get back on the road too, and I know it’s been difficult for you, it’s been difficult for me too, but --”

Tears prick at your eyes at your eyes, and your turn back into the kitchen, where you can’t hear the rest of what Sam says.

 _They want out,_ you think to yourself as the scared part of you takes over, again, and your panicked mind twists what you’ve just heard, _they want away from here…from me. Dean’s sick of looking at me, and watching me be scared of him, and Sam just said ‘it’s been difficult’ for him, too. He told me he wanted me, that I wasn’t broken, that he still wanted me no matter what, and he wants to leave? Leave me?_ You pace the floor with the plates of food still in your hands. _They’re right, they don’t stay in the bunker like this; I’m holding them back; I’m making things worse; I’m keeping them from helping people, from saving people… They want back to their normal lives; they won’t leave because of me, and because I’m holding them back. I can’t be here. I knew this would happen; I’m a reminder of what happened, and they’ll never get passed it as long as I’m here. I don’t belong here anyway, and I never have. I’m not a hunter, I just get in the way and ask too many questions. I don’t belong here._ Tears fall from your eyes and drip to the floor. _They don’t want me here._

When you tearfully try to set the three plates of sandwiches and potato chips on the stainless steel counter top, you miss, and they crash and shatter once they hit the floor. You leave them, because they’re broken, just like you, and run out the other doorway of the kitchen, around the room that Sam and Dean are in, to your bedroom. With each step you take, your mind continues to twist and change the few _actual_ words Sam and Dean said, into something that only your deepest insecurities could come up with.

-

“Sammy, I can’t sit here anymore. I can’t sit here and do nothing and watch her be afraid of me; I have to get out there and do _something_. I’m not used to sittin’ around like this.”

“I know.” Sam runs his hand through his hair. “I’m not either; I want to get back on the road too, and I know it’s been difficult for you, it’s been difficult for me too, but Cas said you need to take it easy for a while, and I know we both know ________ isn’t ready to leave the bunker or ready to be left alone. We have to call in some other hunters; you know we can’t leave yet.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees with a grumble and heavy sigh. Just because he agrees about takin’ it easy, doesn’t mean he likes it; he doesn’t like it one friggin’ bit. “She’s our responsibility, and we have to take care of her. Well, _you_ do… You know what I mean.”

“Dean, last night was _huge_ for _____; she needed to see you, and look at you, and know firsthand that it really _is_ you. I can tell her that she’s safe, and that it’s really you that’s here, until I’m blue in the face, but it was only _you_ that could do what you did last night. Only _you_ could say those things to her, and give her what she needed; _that_ I can’t do. I know she got scared just now, because I think seeing you was just unexpected, but _that_ was just a part of her. _Our_ -_____ is in there; I’ve seen her, and she wants you to see her, too.

Before Dean can tell Sam that he knows what it’s like to have one part of yourself hiding on the outside and a whole different part of yourself on the inside, they both jump up from their chairs when a crash comes from in the kitchen. “What the hell was that?” Dean runs into the kitchen with Sam following close behind.

They see the plates and food scattered on the tiled floor, and Sam’s mind races through what could have happened. It takes him a minute, but when he figures it out, he mutters, “Shit.”

“What?”

Sam sighs. “She heard us, and probably _just_ _the first part_ of what we said. Dammit!”

It takes a second for Dean to jump on the same train of thought as Sam, and when he does, his eyes go wide. _Sammy, I can’t sit here anymore. I can’t sit here and do nothing and watch her be afraid of me._ “I didn’t mean…” He rubs his eyes with his hand and growls, “Son of a bitch!”

When he looks up, Sam’s sprinting out of the room.

Dean might be standing alone in the kitchen, but there’s two parts of him at war inside himself. There’s the old part of him, the _real_ Dean, who wants to check on you and make sure you’re okay. That’s the protector in him: something he was born and raised to be. It’s a powerful instinct in him – akin to breathing – but there’s the second part of himself that is even more powerful, and he wishes he could gouge out, scrub clean, and bleach away, because it makes him sick.

The second part of himself is dark, and he keeps it buried as far down inside himself as he can, but he knows it’s still there. The blackness, it screams in his head, and there’s nothing he can do about it; the damage is done.

Even though Dean’s protector instincts are urging him to check on you – to make sure you’re safe – he knows that if he gets anywhere near you after what just happened, the scared part of you, that Sam was talking about, will only see the blackness in him – the monster you saw back in that shack in the woods – and not the protector.

He rubs at the dull burn of the Mark on the inside of his arm, but it never takes the pain away. It never extinguishes the scorching burn of guilt that blazes on Dean’s skin. The Mark feels like its constantly searing into his skin with a red hot, iron brand, and Dean knows he deserves it.

With a ragged breath, Dean looks around the kitchen and at the broken plates on the floor. He knows it was _you_ that dropped them, but it was really _him_ who broke them.


	11. It's Not Easy Facing Up When Your Whole World is Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A half-conversation is overheard and brings not-so-deep-seated insecurities to light.  
> Your bond with Sam deepens, along with your strength, and all is tested when he and Dean have to leave the bunker.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

“Sammy, I can’t sit here anymore. I can’t sit here and do nothing and watch her be afraid of me. I have to get out there and do something. I’m not used to sittin’ around like this.”

“I know. I’m not either. I want to get back on the road too. I know it’s been difficult for you; it’s been difficult for me too.”

-

 _They want out,_ you think to yourself; _they want away. They’re right; they don’t stay in the bunker like this. I’m holding them back, and I’m making this worse. I have to go._

By emptying your drawers and shoving your clothes into your bag, you try to focus on something other than the conversation you’ve just overheard. The steady streams of tears running down your cheeks are irrelevant, and the sound of Sam knocking on your bedroom door doesn’t exist. All you can hear are Sam’s words to Dean, “ _I know it’s been difficult for you, it’s been difficult for me too.”_

“_________?” He calls to you when you don’t answer his knock, and when you don’t answer his call, Sam pokes his head in your room. He was fully prepared to calm you down and comfort you and explain everything he knows you’ve just over heard, because he knows how insecure and guilty you’ve been feeling, but he’s not at all prepared for walking in on you shoving clothes into your bags. “What are you doing?” His eyes chase after you frantically pacing your room and gathering random things. You’re packing. _Stay calm_ , he tells himself, even though his heartbeat is matching your frantic pace.

Keeping to the task at hand, you continue to shove your things into your bag. “I heard what you said, and it’s fine. I knew I was going to remind both you and Dean of what happened.”

“_______, no, that’s not --”

Not even hearing Sam, you continue your tearful rant while grabbing handfuls of your clothes. “You can’t just hang around here and take care of the scared and broken girl, and it’s fine. I just should have seen it sooner: you two have a job to do, and I can’t hold you back.

“_______, you’re _not_ holding us back, and you’re _not_ broken. We want you here; _I_ want --”

Cutting off Sam again, you keep going, and for a second something in your mind just _snaps_. “ _People’s lives_ depend on you; _hunter’s lives_ depend on you, and I know you don’t have time to take care of me, and it’s fine. I’m fine. It’s fine. I’m just going to go, because I shouldn’t be here anyway. I’m just in the way, and I take up too much time, and you have a job to do. It’s fine.”

“Hey.” Sam carefully grabs you by your shoulders to stop you from darting from one corner of your room to the other. “Can you just breathe for a second?”

You shrug out of Sam’s grip and glare up at him with tears falling steadily down your cheeks. “You said you wanted me!”

“I d--” Even though Sam wants to tell you couldn’t be more wrong, you interrupt him again.

“You said you wanted me since that day in the library, and then I hear you tell Dean that I’m ‘difficult to be around,’ that you’re both sick of me being afraid of everything, and that you both want out of here, _away_ from me! You lied Sam; you said I wasn’t broken, but I am! You said that you wanted me, but you don’t! Dean said it wasn’t my fault, but it is! He said he could look at me, but he can’t! Neither of you can!

“I _do_ want you, and it’s _not_ your fault, and we _can_ \--”

“I’m difficult, and I’m broken, and I remind you both of _everything_ , and I can’t stay here, and I can’t be the reason Ray and Louie fail on a hunt, or let some nasty fucking monster hurt someone, _or worse_ , and I can’t be the reason Dean’s going out of his mind with damn cabin fever, and I don’t want your pity!” Finally you run out of breath, and you have to stop for a second to reload.

“Will you just listen to me for a second?” You’re the one that’s out of breath, but Sam feels like he’s just run a marathon. Watching you zigzag around your bedroom, and hearing you say that you’re leaving has knocked the wind out of him, and he can’t seem to catch his breath.

Sam’s not quick enough. You’ve reloaded, and it’s almost like he didn’t say anything, because your rant keeps going. “And I know both you and Dean think I’m your responsibility, but the truth is, if _I_ wouldn’t have come with you, and if it weren’t for me, _this_ would have never happened: _you_ would have never gotten hurt, Dean wouldn’t be miserable, and _I_ would have never been… _It_ would have never happened, and we wouldn’t be having this conversation. I shouldn’t be here! I don’t belong! I’m a liability!”

Sam sinks down on your bed and puts his head in his hands. He knows there’s nothing he can say or do to make you see reason right now, but he still tries. “None of that is true, and I want you to be here.”

Because of your hysterics, you don’t hear Sam; it’s almost like he’s not even in the room. “And the looks on Dean’s face: the guilt, and the grief… And if _he_ can’t deal with it, how the fuck am _I_ supposed to deal with it or do anything about it, and every time he even _looks_ at me, I can see it on his face. I just make it worse. I’ve made a fucking mess of all of this, because _I’m_ a fucking mess, and _I’m_ broken, and it’ll just be better for everyone if I just go.”

“I want you here,” Sam repeats, desperately trying to catch your eyes.

“People got hurt because of me! If it wasn’t for me, we wouldn’t have even been in that damn place _that night_! We wouldn’t have had to stop! Your wrists and your shoulder… None of this would have never happened if it wasn’t for me!”

“Hey, that’s not your fault. What about Cole? Where would I be if you weren’t --”

“It would just be better if I wasn’t here. I mean, what if something _else_ happens because you and Dean are here, _with me_?”

“This didn’t happen because you’re here. This isn’t your fault. I want you here.”

“You guys have always had a lot going on, and _he_ was right: I just get in the way, but now I won’t… Wait… What?”

“I want you here,” he says a third time, and you finally look at him. Something inside Sam tells him not to look away from you because he’ll lose you to another verbal out-pouring of panic.

“H-how? W-why? B-but you said… And then… Dean… I heard him! I heard you! You said…” You stutter because you’re crying, and your chest heaves because you can’t catch your breath. “You said you couldn’t sit here anymore, and he said he couldn’t watch me be scared of him. _He_ said…” You drag in a quick breath. “And then _you_ said…” Your lungs burn; shallow breaths aren’t enough. “Sam… I can’t…” Another breath of nothing. “I can’t… _breathe_!”

In less than a second, Sam’s at your side. Helping you down onto the floor and into his lap, he curls his hand around the back of your head so the two of you are sitting face to face. “It’s okay. I’m right here. Just breathe.”

With one hand gripped tightly to Sam’s forearm, and your other hand full of plaid shirt, you try to pull in a breath, but your lungs won’t work. “Can’t… Sam… _Help_ …”

“Shhh. I’m here. Just breathe. Breathe with me.” He presses his lips together and shows you how to take a deep breath through your nose, then let it out through your mouth. It takes a little coaxing on Sam’s part, but you finally get a deep breath of oxygen in your lungs, and his nerves calm just a little bit. He never takes his eyes away from yours. His right hand stays at the back of your neck while his left tightly holds your hand to his chest. “There. See? It’s okay. Keep breathing just like that.”

“I’m sorry,” you rasp between breaths.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Just breathe.”

Even though your lungs have refused to work, the tears have been pouring down your face. “You sh-shouldn’t ha-have to do this.”

His hand moves from the back of your neck to the side of your face, and his thumb wipes away your tears. “I want to. Shhh. Don’t talk; just breathe. C’mon, breathe with me.” He takes another deep breath through his nose, nods his head when you copy him, and the two of you blow out breaths at the same time. “Good. That’s good. Okay, let’s do it again.”

You breathe with Sam a half-dozen more times, and when your breath is finally close to even, you sob into his chest. “I’m sorry, Sam… I didn’t mean too. I don’t want this.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ve got you; I’m right here, and it’s gonna be okay.” Sam rubs his fingers up and down your spine and rocks you back and forth slowly. “I’ve got you, ________. I’ve got you.”

Gradually, your sobs turn into quiet cries, then whimpers and sniffs, then Sam feels your shoulders relax and your whole body unclench. Even still, he keeps rocking you softly, kissing the top of your head, and rubbing his fingers up and down your back because it comforts him too.

 _This is so fucked up,_ Sam thinks to himself as he kisses the top of your head. _How did we go from this morning, in my bed, to…”_ He looks around your bedroom and sees your clothes strewn from one end to the other, stacks of books and movies knocked over, and loose papers full of your scrupulous lore notes scattered all around you and him on the floor. “ _How did we go from that, to this?”_

Sitting on the floor with you, Sam falls victim to the silence of the room and his own thoughts, and even though he tries to push them away, the memories just play in his mind.

_Sam was strung up from the ceiling with his arms high above his head, and the toes of his boots barely touched the floor. He startled when he came to, and you were the first thing he looked for. His eyes darted around the shack, and when they finally found you, he saw you were strung up just like him. Sam knew it was bad, he just didn’t know how bad it would really get._

_‘Distract the monster, Sammy,’ Dean’s words screamed in his mind while Sam watched his brother’s hands on your face and body. Sam screamed at Dean to leave you alone and come after him, but every time he did, Dean backhanded you across the face. The first time Dean’s hand hit your face, Sam remembers his mouth literally fell open; he’s never seen his brother hit a woman before – not like that, and never if they were human. The second time Dean hit you was when it really made sense to Sam: Dean wasn’t Dean at that moment, and he wasn’t his brother._

_Dean used his fists and his body to break you, but he used his words to break Sam, and Sam remembers every single thing he said._

_“See, I could beat the shit outta Sammy,” Dean told you with an evil smirk, and his hands touching your skin. “I could string him up and beat him bloody and break his bones, but that'll never hurt him as much as what I could do to you. _Another_ person getting hurt on account of Sam Winchester? _Another_ girl terrorized because of him? Now _that's_ baby brother's weak spot. And you know what the thing is? I could beat Sam within an inch of his life, and he'd take it, because he thinks he deserves it. You, little girl, _you_ don't deserve this at all, and that's what makes this _fun_.”_

_Sam remembers Dean used The First Blade to cut away your shirt and the straps of your bra. He remembers feeling helpless. He wrenched, yanked, and pulled with all the strength he had. He twisted and forced his muscles to pull so hard that they literally tore, but there was nothing he could do to make Dean stop._

_"See, you two think you've been hot on my trail, and you were, but I did one better. I've been watching you this whole time. Hurting you is the best way to hurt Sammy.”_

Sam shakes his head and buries his nose in your hair, trying to get the images out of his head, but they keep coming back.

_"It all started out as cuddles for comfort, back in that motel in Ohio. But then, in Montana, I watched you ride him like a fuckin' stallion. My boy, Sammy, he loves you, so you're the best way to get at him."_

_"NO!" Sam yelled at Dean. "Don't you fucking touch her!" But Sam could see Dean’s eyes – they were black – and he knew no matter how much he yelled and screamed at Dean, it wouldn’t matter. Sam watched Dean punch you in the face, and then walk over to him. "You love her, don’t ya, Sammy?" But Sam didn't get a chance to answer, because Dean tied the same bandana he used to wipe your face around Sam’s mouth, and he could taste your tears, your sweat, and your blood._

“It’s okay,” Sam whispers, but he doesn’t know if he’s saying it to you or to himself. Either way, it doesn’t matter, because Sam’s flashback just keeps going.

_“Oh, honey,” Dean purred to you while licking your blood from his fingertips. “I'm going to fuck your pussy twelve ways from Sunday either way, but it's all up to you how messy it gets. You take my cock like a good girl, and I'll let you go, but if you don't, I'll _make_ you take it, and I can guarantee it'll end bloody for both you and Sam. So, what's it gonna be?"_

_Sam roared behind the gag in his mouth, but the room fell silent when his eyes met yours, and he knew exactly what was going to happen. He’s been around you long enough to be able to read your face, and he knew you made your decision: there was no way you were going to let Dean touch Sam._

_"It's okay, Sam.” You nodded your head at him and even gave him a forced smile. “It's going to be okay."_

Blowing out a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding in his lungs, Sam comes back to himself and feels you shift in his lap. When he looks at you, your eyes are huge and full of tears.

“Shhh, don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“I was packing."

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Don’t. Please, don’t go.”

“Does Dean want me to go?”

“Not at all.”

“But I heard him --”

“Just wait,” Sam interrupts _you_ this time, keeping his voice calm. “Before you start up again, can you just listen to me?”

You hiccup and swallow another sob, and after a couple of beats, you nod your head ‘yes.’

“______,” he says your name softly and wipes away your tears from both of your cheeks. “This isn’t your fault. I know you heard what Dean said, but that’s not what he meant, and what I managed to get from the literally _dozens_ of things you just said, you only heard part of what he said. So, please, just listen to me, and I’ll explain everything, okay?”

When you nod your head with wide and teary eyes, again, and he brushes your hair out of your face. “Okay, first, none of this is your fault; not one thing. Not me, not Dean, and not what happened that night. Okay? None of this is your fault. And second, I meant what I said before: you’re not broken, and I _do_ want you. You’re _not_ broken. Nothing’s changed: I-want-you.” He over-enunciates his words, hoping you’ll understand him.

“You do?”

“Yes,” Sam gently laughs the word, because to him, it’s so obvious, but now he has to make you see it too. “I do.”

“But you said it too…”

“I know I did, but you have to understand that we’re both so used to being on the road, that being _here_ all the time _is_ difficult for us, and you also have understand that _it’s not just you_. Even if you weren’t here, both Dean and I would have to take a step back and just take it easy for a while. We don’t know exactly what The Mark is going to do to Dean if we… _jump back into it_.” Sam feels you tense up against him, and he can practically sense your fear. “Don’t worry.” He kisses the top of your head, thinking you don’t know every detail about The Mark, and he tells himself that someday he’ll tell you everything, but not right now. “ _That’s_ not gonna happen again; _I_ won’t let it happen again, okay?”

But you do know about The Mark. Everything Dean wrote down, before he died, you read it that day in his bedroom. “You and Dean have to take it easy because when he hunts and kills things, it feeds The Mark, right? That’s why you haven’t taken any jobs?”

Sam smirks and shakes his head at himself because he should know better than to underestimate you by now. “How much _did you_ read while we were gone?”

“A lot; everything I could find. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. You’re right, and _that’s_ why we’re not hunting right now – _not just you_.”

“Do you think Dean would be better if I wasn’t here? Would it be easier for him?”

“No.” Sam shakes his head. “And, honestly, I think you being here is _better_ for him, because he’s not worrying about you, and he doesn’t have to wonder if you’re okay or safe. He can --”

“But I’m _not_ okay, Sam. I _want_ to be, but I’m not.”

“But you _will_ be, and not that you _have_ to stay here, because if you don’t want to, we’re not going to _make_ you. It’s just… As far as Dean’s concerned, it wouldn’t be easier if you were gone, and it wouldn’t be easier for me, either.”

“I don’t want to go.” There’s a few minutes of silence where you and Sam just sit together. You look at your hands, and Sam looks at you. “Sam?”

“Hmmm?” Sam continues to hold you in his arms, and it’s his turn to breathe in _your_ scent to calm him down, and it’s his turn to smell _your_ hair to find comfort in your presence. He doesn’t want you to go, he wants you to stay _right here_.

“How long will you stay here? I mean, how do we get rid of The Mark? Even _I know_ you and Dean can’t stay in the bunker forever.”

Sam kisses the top of your head and pulls you closer to him. “Honestly? I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out, and I promise, neither of us will _ever_ let anything bad happen to you again, okay?”

“I know.”

“That’s good.”

A few minutes of silence pass.

“Sam?”

He chuckles lightly into the top of your head; you’ve always been full of questions. “Yeah?”

“Sorry about this. Sorry I went a little crazy.”

“You’re not crazy.”

You shoot Sam a skeptical look. “Did you not witness my crapload of crazy I _just_ unloaded on you?”

“Oh, I was there,” he assures you with a teasing grin, then bends down to kiss you. “Can we unpack your stuff now?”

You look down at your trail of clothes and books scattered on the floor. “Are you sure you want me to stay, because if you don’t, you have to tell me; it’s okay.”

Sam rests his forehead on yours and looks directly into your eyes. “I _want_ you _here_ , and I want _you_. Nothing’s changed,” Sam repeats for the millionth time, but he’ll continue to say it until you really hear him.

“Why?”

“I want you to stay here, with me, because…” Sam looks down at your tearful eyes, and he knows what he has to say – what he _wants_ to say. He’s been thinking it for months now, it’s just never been the right time. “I want you to stay here, with me, because… I love you. I have for a long time now.”

For a minute you just look up at Sam, but your brain won’t work, so you whisper, “Oh.”

“I wanted to wait. I wanted it to be right, but this is how much I want you here. I know this is so difficult for you, and I know you’re struggling to get back to where you were; to get all the pieces of you put back in one place. I can see it on your face, and it’s okay. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to say it back; I didn’t say it to pressure you; I’m just saying it _to you_. I just want you to know it: I love you, and I want you to stay here…with me.”

His words are so kind, and the look on his face is genuine, but with the full deck of emotions rapidly shuffling through your body right now, nothing makes sense. “Sam… How can you --”

“Because I do, and I always have. Since that day in the library, and since that night in your room. I looked at the TV, then looked back at you, and the way you were looking up at Dean, I wanted you to look at me like that. Before that time, I’d never seen you look at anyone like that before, and I thought I screwed something else up.” Sam watches your face, and he can see the exact moment you remember.

“You were leaning against the door frame, and one second you were smiling and the next you weren’t. I didn’t understand. I asked you what was wrong, but you shook your head and walked out. I _knew_ something was wrong. I saw it on your face.”

“You were my friend: you asked me nine million questions, broke all my lock picks, made me watch David Bowie in spandex three hundred and eighty-four times, and then in just a second, everything different.” As Sam recounts that night, he sees your face change; he sees little bits of _you_ coming back, so he keeps going. “I saw you with Dean, and I know it’s cliché, but when I thought about you with him…and not with me… Everything changed, and I just knew. You stuck by me when I was looking for Dean, even though I treated you like crap.”

“You didn’t treat me like crap. I know you were just trying to find Dean.”

“Yes, I did. I ignored you, but you still stayed. You took care of me, helped me, did everything you could to get me to eat and sleep, and even though you it wasn’t your fight, you were there. I want to be here for you, not because I have to, but because I want to. I don’t care how long it takes, and if you’re not ready for… _me and you_ , that’s okay too. We can go back to how it was before today… Or even before that, if that’s what you want.”

“No.” You shake your head. “That’s not what I want. Is that what you want?”

“Not even close. I told you, I love you.”

There’s a part of you that wants to fall into Sam, to kiss him, and tell him that you love him too, because you do. You realized you loved Sam a long time ago. That’s why you followed him when Dean went missing, that’s why you stuck by him when he was so lost in newspaper articles, fake FBI badges, and desperately hunting down cross road demons. You stuck by him even when he ignored you for weeks on end, because you would do anything for him, but even though you know this, there’s still that part of you that wants to run. That part of you is scared all the time, but being next to Sam, being _with_ him, makes everything just a little bit easier. Even though that fear is still there, you know you have to start somewhere, and this is probably the best place to do it, so, you lean forward, put your hands on Sam’s shoulders, and gently kiss him. “Sam, I don’t want to go.”

He smiles against your lips. “Then don’t.”

You return the smile, and a small part of the real-you comes out of hiding, and part of the scared-you goes away. “I don’t want to go back to before.”

Sam kisses you again. “I don’t either.”

“But what if I don’t get passed this? What if every single time I see Dean, _this_ happens?”

Sam’s brain jumps to a memory of something the monster inside his brother said to him: _You’re weak, and this is all your fault. And even if she does get passed this, even if she isn’t broken, and she’s as strong as you say she is, she’s always gonna look at you, and remember_ _me_ _. And you know what? She’ll always blame you._ After Dean was cured, Sam vowed to himself, and to you, that he wouldn’t let that very thing happen: he wouldn’t let you break. “You will; I promise you will.”

“Okay.” You nod your head. “I trust you; I’ve always trusted you, and you’ve helped me get this far… I’m going to be okay.” It’s surprising how letting go and trusting Sam, even if it’s just a little bit, makes all the difference in the world: you’re not alone, because Sam’s with you.

“You are,” Sam agrees, “I promise.”

You look around your bedroom and see clothes, books, and personal items strewn all around. “God, I made a mess.”

Standing up from the floor, Sam gives you his hand and a smile. “We’ll clean it up later. C’mon.”

After you take Sam’s hand, he leads you out of your bedroom and next door to his bedroom, but you stop him. “Sam, wait. If I go in there right now, I’ll never come back out. I can’t hide in your room anymore.”

Sam’s smile widens, and you can practically hear him say, _See, I told you_ , but he doesn’t. “You wanna go find something to eat? We didn’t get to do that before.”

You breathe in a deep breath, look down the hallway, and wring your hands. The scared part of you is telling you Dean is out there, and that only Sam’s room is safe, but the real-you is repeating Sam’s words over and over in your mind, _That’s your-Dean. He’s not going to hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you. It’s okay._

“_______?” Sam says your name softly when you’ve been quiet for a little while. “You alright?”

“Yup.” You nod your head and blow out the breath in your lungs. “Just needed a second, but I’m good now.”

“Take all the time you need.” Sam tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear. “I can wait.”

His words have more than one meaning, and they aren’t lost on you. “I just need…”

“Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“Stay close, okay? I don’t want to lose it again.”

Sam takes your hand again. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

It’s twenty-three steps from Sam’s bedroom door to the first corner of the hallway, and four steps from the corner, you stop. “Sam, wait.” He turns back to look at you, but he keeps quiet and waits for you to say what you need to say. In a shaky voice, you continue, “Before… You said… You told me that you loved me.”

“And I meant it, but I also meant it when I said I just wanted you to know it; I didn’t say it to pressure you.”

“And you’re not, because I’ve known it for a long time. You said you loved me because I stayed with you even though it wasn’t my fight.”

“Well, that’s not the only reason…”

“You’re right.” You trace the knuckles of Sam’s hand with your fingertip. “That wasn’t my fight, but I stayed and did the things that I did because… I love you, too.” When you finally look up at Sam, he’s smiling a smile you haven’t seen in months – dimples ablaze – and you can’t help but to return it. “Alright, stow the dimples, mister, because I need you to know that it’s a mess in my head, and right now, it might look like the crazy girl is gone, but she’s not.”

Sam’s dimples stay prominent for a couple beats longer, and they only go away because Sam kisses you. “You’re not crazy.” You let him pull you close to him because he’s gentle, and his hands on your back are soft.

“Sam?” You ask between kisses.

“Hmm?” His lips stay soft, but you can feel him smirking against your mouth because even mid-kiss you’re still asking questions.

“Say it again.”

“You’re not crazy.”

“No. The other thing.”

After kissing you again, Sam stoops down so his eyes are level with yours and keeps his hands on your back. “I love you.” Your eyes close and you exhale a relived breath. “Need me to say it again?”

“You get that I’m not the same person that I was that day in the library, right?”

Sam shakes his head. “I love you.”

“What if I’m never _her_ again? What if I never get that back?”

“I love you.”

“But what if --”

Sam cuts you off with a kiss and a light chuckle. “No more questions.”

You let Sam kiss you. You do what you wanted to before: you fall into him and kiss him back. With your hands pressed into his chest, Sam’s hands rub your shoulders and move up to your cheeks.

“Sam?”

Another soft kiss and a full showing of dimples. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to try really hard. _This_? Right now? I don’t want _this_ to go away. I want to keep _this_. I don’t want to be scared anymore.”

“I know, but if you do get scared, and this feeling goes away for you, remember that it won’t for me. All you have to do is say the word, and we’ll come back, right here, and we’ll start it over – as many times as you need to – okay?”

You wrap your arms around Sam and pull him into a hug. You can feel his hands on your back, holding you close. “I love you too.”

*//*

After Dean cleaned up the sandwiches and shards of plate off the kitchen floor, he didn’t know what to do with himself. Part of him wanted to check on you and Sam, to see if you were okay or in a full-blown panic attack, but another part of him didn’t want to see. He knows in his head that every ounce of pain and fear and panic that you’ve been feeling is his fault, whether you want to see it that way or not.

In the end, he decided to go out and get some real food. Well, not _real food_ by Sam’s standards, but a thick cheeseburger with extra onions and a cold beer – or nine – could cure a lot of things. It couldn’t cure everything, sure, but it would damn well help.

Over the past few weeks, Dean’s watched Sam carry in platefuls of food down the hall, but when he sees his brother bring them back, one is empty and one is barely picked at. Dean knows you haven’t been eating enough, so he does the only thing he can do: he gets you food. Hopefully you’ll eat it, but if you don’t, it makes Dean feel a little better to think that he went out for food and not for the two six packs of El Sol and the econo-sized bottle of Johnny Labinski's. On a whim, he grabbed jug of José-in-margarita, and completely ignored the raised eyebrow from the guy behind the liquor store counter.

When Dean gets back to the bunker, you and Sam are sitting at the table eating random left-overs from the fridge, and there’s paper plates, napkins, salt and pepper shakers, and to-go containers of various sizes spread out in front of you.

On his way over to the table, he gives Sam a hesitant look. Of course, Sam knows exactly what Dean’s silently asking, and he nods his head slightly as if to say, _It’s okay._ Dean also watches you reach down and grab onto the hem of Sam’s shirt, but your face doesn’t pale, and you keep picking at your grapes.

“Well,” Dean starts as he takes the food out of the bags in his hands. “Got burgers for the two _awesome_ people, and a salad – dressing on the side – for you, Sammy.”

Sam rolls his eyes and huffs out a laugh. “Thanks.”

Dean hands Sam his salad container and sets your styrofoam burger box down in front of you. “I…uh… I got your onions and stuff on the side. Didn’t know exactly what you wanted.” Dean sees your fingers of your left hand twist around Sam’s shirt, and your right hand grips the arm of the chair so hard your knuckles are white. He freezes and looks over at Sam, but what he expects to happen next, doesn’t.

One by one, your hands move up to the styrofoam container and open it up. “Thanks, Dean,” you look up him, and with your voice is barely a whisper, you say, “I’m starving.”

When your eyes look back down at your food, Dean looks at Sam again, who mouths to him, _Sit down. Eat. Be normal._

Dean nods his head and sits down in his chair, thinking to himself, _I can do that: normal. Burger. Normal. Fries. Normal. Beer. Normal. Oh! I got beer! Beer, good._ “Hey!” He says a little more loudly than he means to and sees you jump in your chair. _Fuck._ But you blow out a breath, pause for a minute, and reach for a french fry, almost like nothing happened. He copies you and blows out a breath too, then looks at Sam again, who is glaring at him. Dean clears his throat. _Normal._ “Hey. So, I got beer and some girlie José crap if you want some. I’m not sayin’ you have to, just thought you might want something, ‘cause we all know a good visit to Margaritaville can be good – not…not that I’ve ever been there myself. I mean, I don’t even wear flip-flops, but I just --”

Sam clears his throat and hurls a bitch face at Dean that clearly means: _Shut the hell up._

“Right. So, got you margarita stuff, if you want it.”

It’s quiet in the room. Dean tries not to shift nervously in his chair and eats a french fry, while Sam takes a bite of salad, but they both turn their heads when they hear a small chuckle come from you.

With one finger, you slowly push the salt shaker toward Dean. “Now you don’t have to search for your lost shaker of salt. Jimmy Buffet sends his regards.”

Sam smirks and rubs your shoulder. Dean lets out a sigh of relief, mixed with a small laugh, and he takes the salt shaker. “Thanks.”

*//*

As time goes on, everything goes fairly well. Sam and Dean go about their days finding and assigning cases to other hunters, digging up needed lore, and doling out suggestions and advice to hunters that need it.

Meal times, or anytime spent as a trio, are still a little intimidating for you, but Sam is always there, and Dean never pushes. Every day gets easier.

Of course, things are nowhere near perfect. The fear sometimes creeps back, the memories sometimes worm their way into your dreams, and inside Sam’s bedroom is still more comforting than outside, but you make yourself leave at least once a day, and each time is less daunting than the time before it.

Sam also starts running in the mornings again. He gently wakes you before he leaves, to let you know he’s going. The first couple times you sit curled up in bed, wrapped in his sheets, counting the minutes until he comes back, but like everything else, eventually, it gets easier. And after a while, when he leaves, you fall back to sleep, and when you wake up, he’s freshly showered, waiting for you to wake up.

-

Sitting at the table, next to Sam and across from Dean, the bunker is fairly quiet while the three of you have a couple beers and eat pizza for a midnight snack. Dean’s reading a newspaper, Sam’s reading the news on his laptop, and you’re going through an old Men of Letters journal, when Dean’s phone buzzes on the wooden surface of the table.

Sam rubs your shoulder when you jump slightly in your chair, and Dean gives you an apologetic look before taking the call. He starts to walk away from the table, but you hear him say, “Hey, Louie. Did you guys get that thing figured out?”

You look at Sam and whisper, “ _Thing_?”

“Yeah, Ray and Louie have been workin’ a job for a few days now: a string of bodies a few states over, but no one can figure out cause of death.”

“Yikes.”

“Yeah, but we’ve been trying to find something to link the vics, and Louie was supposed to call if he found anything.”

“So that’s him calling to say he found something?”

“Dunno.” Sam shrugs.

Dean comes back to the table, and he’s still on the phone. “Yeah, lemme talk to Sammy and see what he thinks. I’ll call you right back.”

The look on his face makes you nervous, but you blow out a breath and wipe your sweaty palms on your jeans.

“So, that was Ray and Louie…” Dean lets his voice trail off, and he only does it because he’s not sure if you want to hear about hunts and dead guys.

“Right.” You stand up from your chair. “I’m going to go take a shower and get ready for bed. I’m tired.”

“Are you sure?” Sam asks. “You don’t have to go; you can stay if you want.”

“I know I can, but really, it’s fine,” you assure him and eat the last bite of your pizza. “You guys _do your thing_ , and I’ll just see you when you come to bed.”

“Alright,” Sam says a little skeptically while Dean pretends to look through the messages on his phone. “I’ll be there in a while.” Sam reaches out and brushes his fingers over your knuckles.

You nod your head and smile at him. “’Night.”

“’Night,” Sam and Dean both answer at the same time, and they watch you walk out of the room.

-

After a long and calming shower, you find Sam sitting on his bed with a handful of books. You don’t know how you know it, but you know he’s got something to tell you. Still, you sit down next to him, and resist the urge to wring your hands. Working hard to keep your voice steady and at least resemble its normal pitch, you ask, “So, what did Dean find out?”

“It sounds like it’s a cursed object, and since we haven’t been able to find anything in the Letters’ archives on how to destroy it, they need a curse box.”

“And then what, a trip to Mount Doom?”

Sam chuckles. “No, nothing concerning hobbits.” The chuckle goes away and Sam’s face turns serious. He sees that you start to twist your hands, so he covers them with his. “We have curse boxes here, and there’s a vault here we can store it in, but…we have to go get it.”

Your eyes widen, and your voice shakes. “You-you have to leave?” Sam’s left the bunker every morning for the last while to go for a run, but you haven’t been alone in months: not since you and Sam were out on the road looking for Dean.

“Hey, it’s okay.” He shifts on the bed so he’s closer to you and can wrap his arms around you. “If you want to, you could come with us.”

“Sam, I’m not-I’m not a hunter.” You pull your knees tight up to your chest. “I’ve barely read anything on cursed objects. I’ll just get in the way.”

“You wouldn’t get in the way, and it’s not like it’s a hunt; we just have to drive a couple states over, fill up a box, and come back.”

“No.” You shake your head. “I can’t-I can’t leave. I’m not ready; not yet.”

“That’s okay. Then Dean can just go, and I’ll stay.”

“Sam… You know you can’t stay. You and Dean always go together, and I stay here. It’s been like that since I came here.” You take a deep breath and run your fingers through your hair. “How long will you be gone?”

“Dean thinks we can be there and back in about three days.”

“Three days?” Another deep breath. “Do you have to leave tonight?”

“The quicker we leave, the quicker we get back… We just have to pick it up and bring it back. I’ll have my phone, Dean’ll have his, and if you need something right away, you can always call Cas or Hannah, but I’m not leaving unless you think you’ll be alright.”

“That’s true, Cas and Hannah could be here in seconds.” Your arms loosen around your knees, and you stretch your legs out in front of you. “No, you need to go. I’m not the only one with issues; you and Dean have stuff you need to work out too, and you’ve both been cooped up in here for too long. Dean needs to get out for a while. He’s getting…”

Sam smirks. “Crotchety grandpa?”

You laugh a little bit. “He’s well on his way. He needs to drive the Impala further than Gas ‘n Sip. We all knew this his had to happen at some point. I’ll be fine.”

“You _will_ be fine.” Sam pulls you up into his lap, and you let him hold you tightly. “We’ll be back before you know it.”

“So… What is it?”

Sam feels his mouth twitch when he tries not to smirk. Cursed objects are serious, and they can be dangerous – whatever they are. “Um. Well. It’s not so much an _it_ as it’s a _them._ ”

“ _Them_?”

“They’re shoes.”

You look at Sam with disbelief, and you’re not sure if you should laugh or not. “ _Shoes_? Are we talking like flip-flops, or Crocs? ‘Cause Crocs _should_ be cursed. Or maybe stilettoes? I’m telling you, those _are_ cursed. You wouldn’t know, but heels and stilettoes? They’re evil.”

Sam just laughs. “I’m pretty sure they’re not stilettoes, they’re just… They’re just shoes. I didn’t ask, but I’m pretty sure if they’re just normal shoes.”

“But if they’re just _normal_ shoes, how are they cursed? Why would anyone want to curse a pair of _normal_ shoes?”

“With enough black magic anything can be made deadly. Dean and I worked a job in Portland once where there were cursed ballet slippers that made this girl dance her legs off, a gramophone that worked some sort of mind control, and there was a retro skin mag; really anything can be cursed.”

“ _A retro skin magazine_? Do I even want to know what a cursed porn made the person do?”

Sam laughs. “Trust me, you really don’t.”

-

A couple hours later, Sam is at the table going over a map with the curse box next to him, and when he sees you come into the room, he folds up the map. “Hey. Was wondering if you were going to come out here.”

“Sorry, I was just getting some stuff out of my car. So, are you guys all ready to go?”

“Yeah, Dean’s putting some stuff in the Impala, and we checked the map again. I think with Dean’s driving we’ll only be gone two days.”

“Either way.” You shrug and sit down in the chair next to Sam. “I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us? You won’t be in the way.”

“No, I don’t think so, and it’s not because I don’t want to be around Dean or anything, that’s actually gotten easier.”

“You’ve been doing so well.” He rubs your back.

“I know, but I’m just worried that if I freak out, or whatever, that I’ll be stuck in the Impala, and I won’t have… I won’t have my own place to go, and you guys don’t need that. I’ll just stay, and like you said, if I need something _right now_ I can just call Cas and Hannah.”

“I called Cas, and he said if you need anything, they’ll come.”

“Good. Thanks. Hey, can you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, of course. You need me to do something before I go?”

“Kinda.”

“Oo-kay…”

“So, before, when I was in my car, I made this.” You pull a mix tape out of your pocket and give it to Sam. “Can you give it to Dean for me?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam smirks and looks down at black cased cassette tape. It’s clear he’s trying not to laugh.

“Look.” You elbow Sam and roll your eyes at his grin. “I know, I know: _how very 1989_ , but will you just give it to him, please? It’s important that he hears it.”

For the most part, Sam’s grin goes away, and he reaches over to kiss you. “Yeah, I’ll make sure he gets it. Is everything okay? Do you need me to go out and get him?”

“Nope, but it’ll make sense once he listens to it.”

Sam shrugs. “If you say so.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees you smirk, but he doesn’t quite understand why.

-

Dean slides into the driver’s seat, and Sam gets in the passenger side.

“Sammy, you sure we should leave _____ alone?”

“She said she’ll be fine, and she’s got our numbers, and Cas’s and Hannah’s.”

“Still… I can hear her when she wakes up at night… I just don’t like to think she’s gonna wake up from a nightmare alone.”

Sam sighs. “I know; me either.” After they’ve started down the highway, he remembers the mixtape you made for Dean. “Okay, so I don’t know what this is.” He gives Dean the tape. “But it’s from _______; she asked me to give it to you.”

“What? Is it 1989?”

Sam laughs and shakes his head, because that’s exactly what you said. “I don’t know. She just said it’ll make sense when you listen to it.”

With one hand, Dean takes the cassette tape out of the black case and looks at the sticker.

“Sammy,” Dean’s voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “Did you see this?”

Sam takes the tape from Dean, reads the sticker, and smiles. He’s so proud of you. “Well, you gonna put it in, or what?”

Dean grabs the tape back and slides it in the tape deck.

♫ _We built this city! We built this city on rock and roll!_ ♫

“AHHHH! Jesus!” Dean quickly hits the fast forward button while Sam laughs his ass off. The tape deck stops and starts to play the next song.

♫ _All the old paintings on the tombs, they do the sand dance. Don't you know?_  
_If they move too quick, (oh way oh) they're falling down like a domino._  
_All the bazaar men by the Nile, he got the money on a bet._  
_For the crocodiles, (oh way oh) they snap their teeth on your cigarette._  
_Foreign types with their hookah pipes say (way oh way oh waaaay oh way ohhh)_  
_‘Walk like an Egyptian._ ’♫

Dean is grinning and shaking his head when he hits the fast forward button again.

Though tears streaming down his face and enormous bouts of laughter, Sam manages to ask, “What the hell was that?”

“The Bangles,” Dean grits out, but there’s a smile on his face.

“How do _you_ even know that?”

“There’s no way you made it through early puberty without a crush on Susanna Hoffs.”

Sam’s still laughing. “I don’t know who that is.”

“Riiight.”

The tape deck stops on the next song.

♫ _Nibblin' on sponge cake, watchin' the sun bake; all of those tourists covered with oil._  
Strummin' my six string, on my front porch swing. Smell those shrimp,  
They're beginnin' to boil. ♫  
  
♫ _Wasted away again in Margaritaville, searchin' for my lost shaker of salt._  
_Some people claim that there's a woman to blame, but I know it's nobody's fault._ ♫

While the whole song plays, Sam looks out the window with a grin on his face, and Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel and just barely nods his head to the beat, but the whole mood in the car shifts when the next song plays.

♫ _I stay out too late. Got nothing in my brain_  
That's what people say, mmm-mmm  
That's what people say, mmm-mmm ♫  
  
♫ _I go on too many dates, but I can't make them stay._  
_At least that's what people say, mmm-mmm_  
_That's what people say, mmm-mmm_ ♫

Sam starts to laugh again. “Is this… Taylor Swift?”

Dean shrugs his shoulders and keeps driving, looking at everything except for Sam.

♫ _But I keep cruising. Can't stop, won't stop moving_  
_It's like I got this music in my mind_  
_Saying, "It's gonna be alright."_ ♫

“Dean, aren’t you going to change it?”

♫ _'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play_  
_And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate, hate, hate_  
_Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake_  
_I shake it off, I shake it off._ ♫

“Dean!”

“What?!”

“Oh my God. Shut it off! Right now! Please!”

♫ _Heart-breakers gonna break, break, break, break, break_  
_And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake, fake, fake_  
_Baby, I'm just gonna shake, shake, shake, shake, shake_  
_I shake it off, I shake it off._ ♫

“Dean!”

Dean flips the tape over. “Fine.”

♫ _Oh oh oh oh oh oh_  
_You don't have to go oh oh oh oh oh_  
_You don't have to go oh oh oh oh oh_  
_You don't Have to go._ ♫

♫ _Ay ay ay ay ay ay_  
_All those tears I cry ay ay ay ay ay_  
_All those tears I cry ay ay ay ay ay_  
_Baby please don't go_. ♫

♫ _When I read the letter you wrote, it made me mad, mad, mad  
When I read the words that it told me, it made me sad, sad, sad._ ♫

 

Sam lets out a heavy sigh and leans his head back on the seat. “I have _never_ been so happy to hear Zeppelin in all my life.”

“Right? Me too.” Dean looks out the window and hides his smirk.

*//*

By the time Sam and Dean actually leave the bunker, it’s well past midnight. You fidget with odds and ends around the bunker. You throw pizza boxes away and put the last couple beers back in the fridge. When you look down at your watch, it’s four in the morning, so you go to Sam’s bedroom and try to sleep.

5:02 AM. Sam usually gets up for his run at this time, but the bunker is quiet; it’s just you.

6:53 AM. You’re still wide awake, and you toss and turn in Sam’s bed, pulling one of his plaid shirts tightly around you.

7:36 AM. Bathroom. Book. Beer.

8:44 AM. Your phone buzzes.

            **Sam: Are you awake?**  
            **You: yup.**  
**Sam: Dean just stopped for gas. Wanted to see how you were.**  
**You: I miss you.**  
**Sam: Miss you too. Please try to sleep.**  
**You: I make no promises.**  
**Sam: You know how when you fall asleep in the car and when you wake up the trip is over and it seemed like it took no time at all?**  
**You: I’m fairly certain this isn’t the same. A for effort though.**  
**Sam: haha Thanks.**  
**You: How did Dean like the tape? :)**  
**Sam: Jefferson Starship? Dean moved so fast to fast forward the tape that I seriously thought there was a vamp in the car. The Taylor Swift song was an interesting choice.**  
**You: Did he fast forward that song too?**  
**Sam: Oddly enough no. Is there some sort of inside joke I don’t know about?**  
**You: No, it’s just if you unpack people’s overnight bags, empty out their pockets, and wash their clothes enough, you learn a thing or two about   them.**  
**Sam: I seriously need to know what you found in Dean’s pockets that made you think he’d like a Taylor Swift song.**  
**You: A lady never tells :)**  
**Sam: Haha. Fine.**  
**Sam: Alright, seriously though, please try to sleep. Just for a few hours, okay?**  
**You: I’ll try. Call me when you get there, okay?**  
**Sam: I will. I love you.**  
**You: I love you too. :)**

10:17 PM. Your phone rings in your hand. You fell asleep so quickly after texting Sam that you didn’t even put your phone on Sam’s end table.

“S’mmm. Hi.”

Sam laughs into the phone softly. “You were sleeping.”

“Only a little.”

“Dean and I are here.”

“Did you get the shoes? What kind of shoes are they?”

“I have no idea.” He chuckles. “But you’ll be the first person I call when I find out.”

“I better be.

“You will. Oh, and hey.” Sam’s voice turns to a hushed whisper. “About that Taylor Swift thing. You sure you don’t wanna tell me? Having brother ammunition like that would really make the car ride back to the bunker more interesting.”

You laugh sleepily. “All right, fine. I was emptying his pockets, and I found --” But you’re cut off when you hear Dean’s voice holler for Sam in the background. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Dean just…needs me for something. I’ll call you back, okay?”

“Alright. Please be careful.”

“I will.” And the line goes dead.

For two hours, you tell yourself that Sam had to go. Dean help with something, just like Sam said, and it was just taking some time. Then, for an hour, you pace Sam’s bedroom, and when that feels too confining, you pace up and down the hallway, but that’s starting to feel too familiar. There was a time when you paced the length of the bunker, and it was the last time Sam and Dean left you alone: when Sam brought Dean back dead.

Finally when you can’t stand it anymore, you gather the books Sam was reading in his bedroom about cursed objects and bring them to the table. There’s still three books sitting there from before, and for five hours you pour over every tiny word on their thin pages.

-

You wake up with your face drool stuck to a piece of papyrus paper, and your phone is ringing.

“Sam?”

“No! It’s me! It’s Dean!”

“Oh.” You hold the phone away from your ear because he’s shouting in the phone. “Sure. Hey. Hi. Uh…Why does it sound like I’m on speaker phone?”

“’Cause you _are_ on speaker phone!”

“Oh, well, let me talk to Sam, and he can tell me what’s going on. Don’t crash your damn car.”

“Umm…” Dean looks in the backseat of the Impala. “Sam’s sleeping.”

“You’re yelling in the phone, Dean. How in the hell is Sam --” Dean hesitated when he told you Sam is sleeping; Dean _never_ hesitates. “Wait. Dean?”

“I need you to look something up for me.”

“No. Let me talk to Sam.”

“I left a book on the table, a big and dusty gray one.”

He’s side stepping, and you know he only does that when something’s wrong. “Dean! Let me talk to Sam.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “Okay, don’t freak out, but the shoes… Sam’s kind of… well, he’s unconscious.”

“No, no… Dean, I can’t—Sam, he can’t. No. I need – He said the other vics… THEY DIED, DEAN!”

“Hey, _______, you can’t lose it on me, not now. Sam’s gonna be fine, but I need your help. I need you to look through that book – the big, gray one – I need you to find me some way to torch these shoes.”

“But Sam said… He said that wasn’t anything here! That’s why you…and the curse box. That’s why you guys left!”

“I know, I know, but I need you to listen to me." Dean can hear the hysteria in your voice, but you're the only person who can help him. "I need you to do this, and I know you’re scared; I’m so sorry you’re scared, but only you can do this.”

That other part of you – the one with all the fear that you’ve worked so hard to get rid of – crawls back inside you. “Dean, I can’t… I need Sam. You have to call Cas, I can’t do this!”

“_______, you have to listen to me. Being scared is okay, alright? It used to happen to me all the time – hell, I’m scared to death right now – but there are more important things that being scared. When I was a kid, I told myself I couldn’t be scared, because I had to be brave and take care of Sammy – Sam was more important to me than being scared.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do with _that_?! I can’t just _decide_ not to be scared anymore, because if I could, I would have done that already! Dean, I’m not a hunter; I’m a NORMAL PERSON!”

“I know, and I’m so sorry; I’ll never be able to tell you how sorry I really am, but I need you to do this. Please, just open that book, and don’t be scared, just for a minute.”

 _Don’t be scared, just for a minute._ You blow out a breath. _You can do this,_ you tell yourself, _Sam needs you._ “So,” you start in a shaky voice. “Sam is more important than being scared?”

“Yes!” Dean yells into the phone, but then shakes his head. Sam is more important to _him_ than being scared, but you – _you_ need to do this for yourself. “No! ______, you can’t do this for Sam; you have to do it for you. You, the _you_ that you’re supposed to be. _That_ girl – that sassy little brat, who calls me out on my shit, never changes the oil on her car, listens to horrible music, and subjects my baby to The friggin’ Bangles – _she_ is more important than being scared! Please, I need you to do this! You _can_ do this!"

Silence.

“_______?”

Nothing.

“_______! You can do this, c’mon! I know you can! _You’re_ more important than being afraid!”

The line stays quiet.


	12. My Love will Laugh with Me Before the Morning Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean left you at the bunker to help hunters, Ray and Louie, out with a pair of cursed shoes. Sam was somehow affected by the curse, and Dean called you for help. 
> 
> As for the rest of it, I think the title pretty much speaks for itself.
> 
> PS. In the Red Door’verse, the bunker has a tub big enough to fit you and Sam. I don’t think anybody will complain about that fact.
> 
> PPS. Because I’ve recently been reminded that not everybody is a classic rock buff, like myself and a certain Winchester, I feel I should mention the Sammy Hagar reference for you non-classic rock buffs/younglings out there. Sammy Hagar wrote a song called, [_I Can't Drive 55,_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RvV3nn_de2k) It’s about his inability to drive the speed limit, which is the same head-canon I have about Dean.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapters are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it has taken me almost a whole month to get this published, and I’m soooo sorry to have kept you all on the edge of your seats like this. I went to Vegas for almost a week, and I tried to get this chapter done before then, but I just couldn’t publish something that wasn’t up to par. 
> 
> I hope chapter 12 is worth the wait. 
> 
> As always, a HUGE thank you to [lady_ataralasse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ataralasse/pseuds/lady_ataralasse/works) for giving me ideas and helping me in the dozens of ways that she always does. Make sure you check out her stuff, particularly [_Shenanigans and Blarney_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1330885/chapters/2771905) \- it's a favorite of mine.

Before Sam’s eyes even open, he knows exactly where he is: the backseat of the Impala. It’s the smell, the feel, and the sound that are all unmistakable; he just doesn’t understand _why_ he’s in the backseat or _why_ he’s so groggy.

“Dean?” He realizes his voice is scratchy and rough; he’s exhausted.

“’Bout time you woke up, Sammy.” Dean hides the relief in his voice. Sam’s been unconscious for over six hours.

“What the hell happened? Why am I in the backseat?” The last thing Sam remembers is being on the phone with you, and then _nothing_.

“You’re in the backseat because I put you there, Sasquatch. My back is killin’ me, by the way, thanks for that.”

Sam tries to sit up, but he gets dizzy, and suddenly he notices he’s hot, sweaty, and achy. “God, what happened?”

“You got whammied by a pair of Wellingtons.”

Sam rubs his eyes and forehead, trying to get his vision to focus. “ _Wellingtons_?”

“ _Boots_ … Wellingtons are rubber _work boots_ ” Dean sighs when he looks up into the rearview mirror and sees the confused-puppy look on Sam’s face. “Never mind. Apparently, you didn’t need to touch them for the hoodoo to work; I don’t know what you did, but they got you.”

Sam’s brain is all fuzzy. “I don’t… How did you… We couldn’t find a way to destroy them, how did you…”

Dean hesitates for a half-second. “______ found a _sayonara_ - _sucker_ -cleansing ritual. It got rid of the curse, and I torched the --”

“YOU TOLD HER I WAS CURSED?!” Sam’s brain is no longer fuzzy. He immediately digs his phone out of his pocket and tries to call you, but you don’t answer. “She’s not answering her phone, Dean!”

He purses his lips and blows out a breath through his nose. “I know.”

“I’m calling Cas; he can go check on her.”

“Already did that; he can’t get into the bunker unless she opens the door for him…the wardings.”

“Dean, what the hell? Why would you tell her? She’s probably…” Sam pictures you in several panic-filled scenarios.

“And what? Just let you rubber-boot-rhumba your way into a permanent dirt nap? You don’t think ______ would have an issue _with that_?”

Sam growls under his breath, but doesn’t say anything to Dean, he just tries your phone a dozen more times. After several miles of road fly by and multiple text messages are sent – all unanswered – he finally talks to Dean again. “How was she on the phone? What did she say?”

“It was touch and go for a minute, but ______’s strong; she got her ducks in a row. We couldn’t find a way to destroy the boots, but I remembered a cleansing ritual I read back at the bunker. She read it off to me, I did it, then I torched the boots, and you woke up: end of story.”

“If that’s the _end of the story_ , then why isn’t she answering her phone? What happened?”

“Look, she had a hard time at first; she was…” _Frantic? Panicked? Terrified? Hysterical?_ “She was _worried_ about you, but she got through it and found the ritual we needed. I kept her on the phone the _whole_ _time_ , and I tried to keep her calm, but after I told her the ritual was done, and you still hadn’t woken up yet, she hung up on me… That was four hours ago.”

“FOUR HOURS!?”

“Yeah.” Dean rubs the back of his neck and resists the urge to slam his hand back down on the steering wheel. He’s been worried about you this whole time, but Dean knows if he loses his shit, Sam will too, and he doesn’t want that for Sam. He needs Sam to be strong for you, so Dean stays strong for Sam – it’s something he’s tried to do his whole life. “I called Hannah and Cas, and they said she didn’t call them. They went to the bunker to check on her, but they couldn’t get inside. Hannah said she could feel _______ was upset, but with the warding, she couldn’t get much more than that.”

Sam looks out the window, but he doesn’t recognize the highway. “Where are we? How long ‘til we get back?”

“About an hour, and I’m driving as fast as I can; I’m channelin’ friggin’ Sammy Hagar, here.” Dean’s driving about seventy – he can’t drive fifty-five.

“Drive _faster._ ”

The Impala’s speedometer moves past ninety.

-

Thirty-five minutes later, Sam and Dean both race into the bunker to find you slumped over the table, using books for pillows and wrapped up in one of Sam’s jackets.

Dean sighs in relief when he sees you. “She _slept_ through four hours of phone calls…”

Sam carefully brushes hair out of your eyes, while he crouches down next to your chair “_______?”

You murmur some sleepy nonsense and shift on your hard covered pillows, but you don’t wake up.

“She probably hasn’t slept this whole time,” Dean offers quietly and relaxes just a little bit, taking the fact that you’re still asleep as a good sign.

“She hasn’t,” Sam says softly while rubbing your back. “It sounded like she’d just fallen asleep the last time I talked to her.”

Sam’s change in demeanor doesn’t go unnoticed to Dean. His brother’s eyes haven’t moved away from you since he’s been by your side; it makes Dean smile just a little bit. “I’ll go get the stuff out of the car, and call Cas, so he and Hannah know they don’t have to come. Why don’t you put ________ to bed; those books aren’t exactly Memory Foam. You should get some sleep too.”

Sam scoops you up off the chair. “I’ve slept more than you have.”

“Hoodoo _siestas_ do _not_ count. I’ll get the bags; you just take care of her.”

Sam nods his head and carries you down to his bedroom.

Once he carefully lies you back on his pillows, he pulls off your shoes and socks, kicks off his own shoes, sheds several layers of plaid and a few yards of denim, and then climbs into bed next to you. Instantly, you curl up next to him. Sam still feels groggy, achy, and sore, but he doesn’t care, he just pulls you close to him and falls asleep in minutes.

-

When you wake up, the room is completely dark except for Sam’s dim reading lamp and the glowing numbers of his alarm clock telling you it’s 4:54 AM. You startle at the change in location, since you fell asleep at the table, _not_ in Sam’s bed.

“Hey,” Sam whispers and kisses the top of your head. “It’s okay.”

“Sam?” You sit straight up on the bed and stare at him. “When did you- How long- But you were- The shoes --”

“I’m okay,” Sam repeats with a kind and reassuring smile as he sits up on the bed next to you. “Dean and I got back like twelve hours ago. You were sleeping at the table, and I brought you to bed. I tried to wake --”

You cut him off by practically jumping into his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. “God, who the hell curses shoes anyway? You’re okay?” You kiss him before he can even answer you – he doesn’t mind the interruption.

“Yeah,” he answers and holds you after the kiss ends. “I’m okay. I’m kind of tired, and I was sore, but I’m good now, but you… Dean said you hung upon him, and you weren’t answering your phone. We sent Cas and Hannah, but they couldn’t get inside unless you let them in. What happened?”

As you hold on tightly to Sam, you remember your conversation with Dean.

_“Dean, did he wake up yet?"_

_“No, not yet. Sometimes it takes a minute. Don’t worry, he will.”_

_Thirty seconds later…_

_“Dean… This is going to work, right?”_

_“_____, it’s gonna work. Just wait, okay?” He could hear your ragged and scared breathing through the phone. “You have to breathe. It’ll be okay. Sammy’ll wake up; you just gotta give him a minute.”_

_“What if I read the ritual wrong? What if I --?”_

_“You didn’t; you read it to me exactly right, and I did everything you said. It’s gonna be okay; he’ll wake up.”_

_By that time, you had a minute to process, and you started to cry. “Dean, promise me Sam’s going to wake up.”_

_“I swear he will. ______, I’m gonna put the phone down for just a second, so I can get him in the car, okay? Me movin’ him around will probably wake him up. Just hang on, okay? Don’t hang up.”_

_“Yeah; okay; I won’t.”_

_After a minute of Dean grunting, and cursing Sam’s sasquatch-ness, he must have gotten Sam in the backseat because he picked up the phone again. “Okay, I’m gonna get on the road. We’ll be --”_

_“Did he wake up?”_

_Dean sighed. “No, not yet.”_

_“Dean…” You sobbed his name._

_“I know you’re scared, but Sammy’s gonna wake up real soon.”_

_Through the phone you could hear the Impala speeding down the highway. “Are you scared, Dean?”_

_“Nope,” Dean lied and forced a smile on his face. “I trust you; you found the right ritual, and I did exactly what you said. He’s gonna wake up any minute and want a salad or some shit.”_

_“You promise?” You asked again._

_“I do; I swear it.”_

_The Impala drove over dozens of miles of highway before you spoke again._

_“Dean? Are you doing that thing?”_

_“What thing?”_

_“That thing you said you do for Sam: how you don’t let yourself be afraid, so Sam’s not afraid. Are you doing that to me, right now?”_

_“Sam!” Dean yelled, and you heard him slap what you assumed was Sam’s shoulder. “Wake up!”_

_The only sounds you and Dean heard were each other’s breathing and the Impala’s engine, but a second later, Dean heard another sound._

_Click._

 

“I hung up because… I couldn’t… I don’t know… I just couldn’t stay on the phone. I hung up and sat and stared, then I laid my head down on the table and stared some more, and I heard my phone ring, but I was too scared to pick it up because Dean might have been calling to say you weren’t going to wake up, and I couldn’t… If something would have happened to you…” You shake your head to get rid of the thought. “I was too scared, and I must have fallen asleep. I’m sorry if I freaked you out.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you’re alright.”

“I’m okay; I’m just glad _you’re_ alright. I don’t know what I would have done…”

“Shhh.” Sam rubs your back. “I’m okay. It’s late. Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“No.” You shake your head. “Need a shower… Food.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

You think for a second. “Pizza?” The pizza you, Sam and Dean ate when Ray and Louie called about the case.

“You haven’t eaten since we left?”

“I had a beer.” You shrug and offer Sam a half-smile.

Sam rolls his eyes and kisses you softly. “You go shower, and I’ll go find some food.”

“Don’t touch any shoes while you’re out there, okay?

“Actually.” Sam grins. “They were boots; Dean called them _Wellingtons_.”

“Some crazy witch put a curse on a pair of rubber work boots? What was she trying to do, curse a fisherman?”

Shaking his head and laughing at your question, Sam shrugs his shoulders. “I have no idea, but I promise I won’t touch any shoes while I’m gone to get food.”

“Or boots.

“Or boots,” Sam promises and kisses you again. Before he pulls away, he leans closer to you and whispers in your ear, “I love you.”

You happily sigh and rest your forehead on his cheek. “I love you too, Sam.”

He kisses the tip of your nose and takes you by the waist so he can lift you up off his lap. Once Sam starts to pull on his jeans, you get up from the bed, find a change of clothes, and steal Sam’s shirt off the floor.

“I wore that shirt for two days.”

Grinning up at Sam, you ask, “So?”

He chuckles and pulls you to him. “I have a whole drawer full of clean shirts.”

“Don’t want a clean one.” You stand up on your tiptoes and kiss him. “This one smells good.”

“I repeat: I wore it for _two_ days.”

“ _I repeat_ : so? It-smells-good.”

Sam kisses you again, and shoos you to the left hallway toward the showers, while he goes right toward the kitchen.

You shower, brush, your teeth, and pull on a pair of underwear and shorts under Sam’s plaid shirt, and start your way back to Sam’s bedroom. On your way, you see Dean walking into his bedroom. You jog to catch up to him, and knock on his door frame, even though he left the door open.

“Hey.” You smile at him.

“Hey.” Dean looks at you, then your shirt, and smirks. “You know Sam wore that for two days, right?”

You playfully roll your eyes and huff, as you lean against his door frame. “You got a minute?”

Dean leans against his desk. “’Course; you need something?”

You shake your head and take a deep breath. “I just wanted to tell you that I didn’t mean to lose it on the phone before. I panicked, and I’m sorry.”

“Hey, you don’t have _anything_ to be sorry for. You found what I needed, and it worked – Sammy’s alive and kickin’ because of you. You did good.”

“Thanks.” You tell him with a tiny smile.

“Anytime.”

It’s quiet for a minute, just the quiet hum the bunker always makes along with the _tick-tick_ of Dean’s alarm clock.

You hesitantly walk into Dean’s bedroom and lean against his desk next to him. “Did you mean what you said before? About how you used to be afraid, but you made yourself not be afraid for Sam?”

Dean nods his head. “Yup, but _you_ have to do it for _you_ , not for anyone else. And I know I’m _not_ the poster child for proper coping techniques or anything – I’m pretty much the _what not to do,_ but you were right: you can’t just _make_ yourself not be afraid.” He shrugs. “I’ll just _happen._ It might take some time, but you’ll get there.”

You bump you shoulder against Dean’s. “I remember once upon a time, you told me you weren’t Dr. Phil.”

“Oh, God,” he scoffs with a smile and shakes his head. “I _so_ am not.”

“Well, you can say whatever you want, but _what you said,_ it made a difference.”

He looks at you with just a little bit of surprise in his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yup. Just like you said, for a minute, I wasn’t scared – I was _me._ It was a good feeling, and I missed it. Feeling like me made me feel strong again, and I needed to feel that. I just wanted you to know that you played a big part in how I feel _right now_... It helped, _a lot_. So…thanks.”

Clearly feeling awkward from your words, Dean shifts in his spot. “I didn’t say anything special, I just --”

“You did. The thing that I was afraid of…” You take a deep breath and reach for Dean’s hand. “What I was afraid of, it doesn’t _exist_ anymore, and you told me that _I’m_ more important than being afraid – I’ve known that this whole time, but _you_ reminded me of it when I needed it the most. So, can you just take the compliment?” You bump his shoulder again.

Dean heaves a mock-exasperated sigh, then gives you a grin. “Alright; fine.”

You lean into Dean and nudge your shoulder under his arm. He hesitantly wraps it around your back, and you smile up at him. “So, did you like the tape?”

Dean snorts. “It was interesting, I can tell you that much.”

“I figured The Bangles would be a nice touch.”

“That they were.”

“And Taylor Swift?”

“You didn’t tell Sammy ‘bout _that_ whole situation, did you?” You look up at Dean and smirk. “Oh, c’mon! I _told you_ : we were working a case, I needed some paper, and someone kid must have left the CD booklet behind – it was _right_ _there_.”

You chuckle. “I didn’t tell him, and I _believe_ you.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “I’m tellin’ you, I _just_ needed paper.”

“It’s a perfectly logical story. I _just_ _thought_ it would be slightly amusing for Taylor Swift to be on the stereo of the Impala – _that’s all._ ”

“This is way too long of a conversation for a guy like me to be having about Taylor Swift.”

“Alright, fine. Consider the subject dropped.”

Dean snickers and nods his head. “Thanks.”

“Yup. Kay, I’m gonna go back to bed.”

“Kay, see you in the morning. I’ll get breakfast.”

“Sounds good.” You walk out of Dean’s bedroom, and down the hall to Sam’s room to find him already back in bed eating a bowl of fruit and some yogurt.

He looks up at you and snickers at your – _his –_ shirt.

You roll your eyes. “I _like_ wearing your shirts,” you tell him as you climb up on his bed next to him.

“I didn’t say anything.” He grins.

“Suure.”

“So, you were gone for a while…”

“Oh, yeah. When I got out of the bathroom, I stopped and talked to Dean a little bit. Wanted to apologize for hanging up on him and making him worry about me. Shouldn’t have done that.”

“You did the best you could. You found the ritual, and you saved me.”

“I read Dean a page from a book. He knew where it was, I just had to tell him what to do – I didn’t _save_ you.”

“Yes, you did, and if you wouldn’t have done that, it would have taken Dean a lot longer to do the ritual.” Sam doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks to himself, _And who knows what would have happened._

Both you and Sam are quiet for a minute while you eat some fruit.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“He said something to me… Dean.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I got really scared when he told me what happened to you, and he said that he needed my help, and he needed me not to be scared just for a minute. I did it, and it was good; I wasn’t scared. I felt like me for a minute… I _feel_ like me.”

Sam puts the bowl of fruit and container of yogurt on his end table and sits up next to you. “See, I told you it would get better.” He tucks a piece of wet hair behind your ear. “You’ve come really far.”

“You’ve been saying that for weeks.”

“Because it’s true.”

“And for the first time, I really believe you. Like I said, I feel like _me_ again.”

“That’s good.” Sam turns so he can kiss you.

Sam meant his kiss to be soft, but with him being gone, and you being scared of what that could have possibly meant, combined with the new – _old_ – feeling of confidence and sense of self… All of that gives you ideas other than Sam’s soft kiss, so you wrap your arms around his neck, leaning back against his headboard, and pull him with you. Sam gets the message and twists himself so his hands can touch your face and move his hands up to your hair, then down your back. He sighs when your tongue licks against his lips, then he does the same to you.

While his tongue is gently touching yours, you slide down on the pillows so your back is resting on them and not on the wall. Sam counters your change in position by putting one knee between your legs and one outside your thigh.

His back arches up into your hands when you slide them up under his tee shirt and rub your fingertips up and down his back. You can feel each groove in his skin, feel each muscle under your hands, and when he shifts on the bed so he’s between your knees, you feel every one of his muscles flex beneath your hands.

“This okay?” Sam whispers while his kisses trail down your jaw and neck, then skirt around the collar of his shirt and the exposed skin just below your neck.

You nod your head and start to pull his shirt up his back. His pulls his mouth away from your skin and leans back on his knees so he can rid himself of it. The firm and sculpted smoothness of Sam’s chest is too irresistible not to touch, so you press the palms of your hands into his pecs, trailing your fingers down his abs, and just barely touching the elastic of his boxer-briefs.

“Sam?” You rest your hands on his hips and look up at him, still kneeling between your legs.

His fingers trail down your plaid-covered sides. “Hmmm?”

“This is okay, _for me_ , but I don’t…” You swallow nervously. “I don’t want to start something I can’t finish.”

“Hey…” Sam’s face goes soft, and he shifts so he’s lying on his bed next to you and not above you, and rests his hand gently on your arm. “We don’t even have to _start_ anything.”

“You don’t want to?”

“Of course I do.” Sam pulls you close to him. “But I want you to feel safe; I want you to feel comfortable, and if you’re not, then we don’t have to _do_ anything – you _never_ have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Pressing yourself even closer to Sam, so you can feel the heat from his naked skin through the cotton of your borrowed shirt, you kiss Sam softly. “And if I want to?”

Sam rests his forehead on yours. “Are you sure?”

You move onto your back and pull Sam with you, so he’s back between your knees. “I don’t know how far, but I know I need you to touch me.” Your hands reach up and touch his bare sides. “Please? Just touch me.”

Sam kisses you again and nods his head. “All you have to do is tell me to stop – _anytime_ – and I swear I will, okay?”

Taking your hands away from his warm skin, you start to pull at the snaps of Sam’s plaid shirt covering your chest. Sam leans back on his knees and lets you finish while his hands rub the naked skin of your thighs from your ankles to the hem of your shorts, touching you just like you asked.

He notices your hands don’t shake when you pop open each snap, and once you’ve worked open the first half of the snaps, he bends down and kisses every inch of your bare skin, until he reaches your belly button and the cinched waistband of your shorts. When the last snap is open, the plaid shirt is still draped over your breasts, but Sam doesn’t move to slide it out of the way. You haven’t been completely naked in front of him since the day he gave you a bath, and he’s just figured that you being totally exposed to him makes you feel vulnerable, so now, he leaves that task for you.

Instead of removing your shirt completely, your hands reach up to Sam’s shoulders and pull him down to you. He does what you silently ask of him and braces himself up with his hands pressed into the mattress on either side of your shoulders.

“Kiss me, Sam; I need you to kiss me,” you beg him in barely a whisper and grip his lower back.

“Whatever you need,” Sam murmurs between kisses. “Just tell me what to do; tell me what you want, and I’ll do it – anything.”

“I want,” you pant into Sam’s mouth. “I want you to see me – _all of me_. I need you to see _me_.”

Sam knows there’s more than one meaning to what you’re asking of him, and he knows this is a huge step for you. Even though he sees the _real you_ every day, he knows this is the last part of you that you’ve struggled to find. He’s almost overwhelmed at your trust _in_ and love _for him_.

After stealing another kiss, Sam pushes himself back on his knees again and watches your steady hands slowly pull the plaid away from your breasts. Your eyes never leave his while you pull his shirt off your arms and let the cuffs fall onto the bed; then your hands move down to the waistband of your shorts to push them down your hips. Sam’s done this before, but he still wordlessly asks your permission before helping you pull them the rest of the way down your legs. You answer his voiceless question with a nod of your head, and he keeps his hands soft when he drags the material down your thighs and legs, then tosses them to the side.

Sam’s chest rises and falls in time with yours – both with anticipation and how immensely intimate this is.

While his eyes stay locked on yours, his thumbs rub soft circles into your bent knees, and you whisper, “Sam, look at me – I need you to see _me_.”

Letting out a deep breath, Sam’s eyes leave yours and travel down your neck and shoulders, then to the smooth skin of your chest and soft curves of your breasts, your waist, hips, between your parted legs, your knees, all the way down to your feet.

“I see _you_ ,” Sam tells you softly while taking your left hand from the bed and kissing the tips of your fingers down to the palm of your hand. “I’ve _always_ seen _you_ , ________." He kisses the inside of your wrist, to the crease of the inside of your elbow, to the upper part of your arm, across your collar bone, and stops at the smooth skin at the curve your breast, but when he kisses your skin, he’s not kissing your breast – he’s kissing _your heart._ After a minute of his lips pressed into your skin, Sam looks up at you and touches your face. “I see _you_ – I’ve _always_ seen _you_ , and I love _you_.”

Your eyes close and you let out a breath, then a tiny whine when Sam kisses up your neck and jaw to find your lips. “I love you, too.” You can feel Sam smile against your mouth. His lips are soft, and his tongue is warm when it finds yours.

While the two of you kiss, Sam’s body is pressed into yours, and your hand travels down his back, his side, and slips under the elastic of his boxer briefs to wrap around his solid cock. He breathes in sharply and groans into your mouth – the sound practically makes you melt, and you return his groan with a moan of your own.

With your mouth never leaving his, you reach down with your other hand to pull his underwear down his ass. Sam reaches back with one hand to help you finish, and after a quick shift from him, the boxer briefs are gone, and the both of you are completely naked.

His lips moving down your neck, Sam groans against your skin when your hand wraps around him again. When your thumb circles his tip, dragging a bit of his precome around the sensitive skin, his hips involuntarily move against your hand, just barely brushing against your center. You gasp at the contact.

Sam’s head flies up from your neck, and his eyes are wide. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean --”

You stop his apology with a kiss. “It’s okay; I want you to.” Your free hand takes his hand and brings it down between your legs. “ _Feel_ how much I want you to.”

A husky groan comes from Sam’s throat, and his eyes roll back in his head when he feels how wet you are. You feel his cock jump in your hand, and Sam kisses down the curve of your breast, licking and sucking your soft skin into his mouth. When his tongue flicks over your nipple your hips raise up off the bed, and you give his length a squeeze. Another groan comes out of his mouth, and Sam kisses his way over to your other nipple, lapping at the raised skin, and you breathe his name.

“Sam.” You pressed his hand tighter against your throbbing center. “Please…”

“You have to tell me to stop if --”

“Don’t want you to stop,” you interrupt him with a moan. “Please…”

As soon as the word is out of your mouth, Sam eases a single finger inside you. Your hand leaves his cock and grips tightly to his hip and your other hand pulls Sam’s face back up to yours. While his finger slowly slides in and out of your wet opening, your hips rock up into his hand, and you kiss him hard on the mouth. His thumb circles your clit when Sam adds a second finger, and you cry out his name in his mouth.

“Sam… I want you. Please, I need to feel you.”

Sam groans, and he looks at you, “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you pant. “Please, I’m sure.”

He nods his head. “Alright.” But he keeps moving his fingers in and out of you, and rubbing his fingertips up against the textured flesh of your g-spot. He doesn’t say it aloud, but he knows it’s been months for you, and he doesn’t want to hurt you. Carefully adding a third finger, Sam feels you clench around his finger, and your hips rock harder against his hand.

“I’m gonna come, Sam,” you whimper against his lips while kissing him.

“It’s okay; I’m right here.” He moves his hand faster and circles your clit harder with his thumb.

“But I want…”

“I know, and we will; it’s okay.”

“Sam!” Sparks fire off behind your eyes when Sam’s fingers make you come, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him tightly to you.

“I’m right here, ________. I’m right here,” he assures you while kissing your lips, your cheeks, and down your jaw. “I’m right here.” His fingertips and his thumb work you through your orgasm with gentle touches, and then when he takes his hand away, he uses your wetness to coat his dripping and aching cock.

You whine when he takes his hand away. “Please…”

“_______,” Sam says your name softly and takes your hands in his so he can kiss them. “I need you to open your eyes and look at me.” You do, but when your eyes focus, you look up at him, confused. “I just want to make sure,” he keeps your eyes with his, “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

“This is what I want; I want _you_.”

“Anytime you want to stop,” Sam whispers against your lips and kisses you softly, “All you have to do is tell me – _anytime_.”

“I know. Just…” You take a second to breathe. “Just go slow, okay?”

“I promise.” Sam lifts your knees up onto his hips, and just rubs himself against you while he kisses you. Each time his length grazes your dripping center, his hand spreads your slick over his cock. “Ready?”

You take a deep breath and nod your head.

Sam’s fingers find your clit and softly rub it while he picks up more of your wetness, and just before he presses himself inside you, you say, “Wait, Sam, just wait.”

Showing absolutely no signs of irritation or frustration, Sam’s face stays soft, and he immediately stops – just like he said he would, and his eyes are full of concern.  

“Sam,” you breathe his name. “Not like this. Please, just not _like_ _this_.”

There’s the tiniest trace of fear in your eyes, and it takes Sam just a split second to figure out what you mean: he’s completely naked on top of you, and not that he’s holding you down, but his body is much larger and stronger than yours, and he’s draped over you. Sam understands where your hesitation is coming from, and he knows he should have known better.

“It’s okay.” He moves off of you, lays down on the bed on his back, next to you, and gently pulls you on top of his thighs. With the new position, Sam instantly sees the hesitation leave your face, but he still asks, “Is this better?”

With a ragged breath, you nod your head. “But, can you… Can you sit up?”

Doing just as you asked – like he promised he would – Sam pushes his upper body up off the mattress, so his chest is pressed into yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, and he helps wraps your legs around his waist, then kisses you. “Anything you need.” While the two of you take a minute to kiss, Sam’s hands find your hips. “Do you want me to?”

You know he’s asking you if you want him to lift you up and over him, or if you want to position yourself on top him – you want Sam to do it. You rest your forehead against his. “Please.”

With his huge hands gentle, Sam carefully lifts you up by your hips and moves your center over him. Never taking his eyes from yours, he slowly eases you down over him. You gasp at the first inch, and Sam gently lifts you back up, then kisses you. It’s only when you nod your head, does he try again. Inch by inch, he slowly guides you down around him – he groans at the feeling of your warm channel wrapped tightly around him, and you whine – in pleasure, _not_ pain – at the familiar stretch.

Once you’re finally seated around him, and your ass flush with the tops of his thighs, Sam hands leave your hips, and wrap around your back. For a minute, that could very well last for an unknown length of time, you and Sam just look at each other. It’s literally been months since either of you has felt _this_ , and you both need a second to just process.

Carefully, Sam leans you backward so he can kiss your chest, but once again, he’s not kissing your breasts – he’s kissing your heart, then he looks up at you. “I see _you_ , ______." His hips move up against you just slightly, and you both groan. "You're strong.” His hips move again, pressing you tight against him. “So much stronger than you’ll ever know.”

Wanting more, you lean back into Sam’s chest and find his mouth, and his hands go back to your waist. Kissing him soft at first and then harder, you use your arms around Sam’s shoulders as leverage and roll your hips over him.

“I love you,” you murmur against his lips.

“Love you, too,” Sam groans while his hands lift you up and down over him.

You move together, soft and easy for a while, then you grind your hips down over Sam, and the head of his cock presses perfectly up against your g-spot. Your eyes squeeze shut at the feeling, and Sam’s hands go to work.

The tanned muscles of his arms ripple every time he moves you over him, and you add to the strength of his movements by moving against him, then something happens.

This whole time, it’s only been you and Sam in his bedroom, but as fears, uncomfortable situations, and hesitations fly out the figurative window with the rest of the world – which, at the moment, doesn’t even exist – you and Sam both find pieces of yourselves that have been missing for months.

Sam’s lips never leave yours, except to drag in quick breathes between kisses. One of his hands firmly grips your back, holding you close to him, and the other hand is threaded into your hair, while your arms stay wrapped around his neck. You and Sam move together like no time has passed, like nothing evil in the world can touch you, and right now, in _this_ moment, nothing can. You’re safe in Sam’s bedroom; you’re safe with Sam; you keep _each_ _other_ safe.

Using every sense the two of you have, except for sight because your mouths are locked together, you and Sam listen to the soft – and _not so soft_ – sounds the two of your make. The two of you feel each other’s movements. You can feel the increasingly tighter grip Sam has on your back as you ride him, and the sweat that comes from his neck and chest, spreading hot onto your skin when you move against him. It’s the same for Sam: he can feel your fingers wind in his hair, your arms wrap around his neck and shoulders, pulling your closer to him, and he can feel you clench around him as you move.

You can also smell each other – Sam’s musky smell fills your nose, and the scent that he’s memorized as specifically _you_ is everywhere, and he can’t get enough of it.

Then it all comes together: he presses you down over him exactly the way you need it, and when you come for the second time, he watches your body shudder and your head fall backward into his hand. Not only can he hear your moans as you come, he can feel it because you squeeze him from the inside. That’s all it takes for him, and he loses it.

Your head is hanging limply back in his hand when he comes with a groan deep from within his chest. He pulls your mouth to his, kissing you hard and pulling you down and around him, rocking up into you as his orgasm crests and then fades, but then he feels you clench around him again, and he groans even deeper, because he _knows_ that feeling – he _remembers_ that feeling – you’re going to come again.

Sam’s hands leave your hair and back and grip your hips to help you ride him. You start to moan his name, and suddenly – more than anything – he needs your mouth on his, so he steals yours and covers it with his.

He’s sensitive from his own orgasm, but he couldn’t care less. He pulls you against him until you come for the third time, crying out his name against his lips and breathing heavily right alongside him.

For an undistinguished amount of time, you and Sam make little movements against each other, savoring the bodily contact and the closeness that you’ve finally shared. When the last sparks of your mutual orgasms fade away into the silence of Sam’s bedroom, he lays back onto the pillows and takes you with him, rolling you both onto your sides. At the same time, you both let out little moans and groans when Sam slips out of you, but then you nestle into each other, and he flips a wrinkled sheet over the both of you.

When his and your breathing returns to normal, you nuzzle into Sam and blindly find his mouth. He kisses you soft and slow while running his fingers up and down your back.

For a little while, it’s just heartbeats, breaths, and the hum of the bunker in the background, then Sam softly clears his throat. “How you doin’?”

“Mmmm,” you moan with a blind smile and kiss Sam’s chest, “Good; sleepy, thirsty, hungry. You?”

Sam chuckles and reaches behind you for the bowl of fruit on his end table from earlier. He rubs a juicy chunk of cut up peach against your lips and groans just a little bit when you open your mouth for him. He puts the peach on your tongue, but before he takes his hand away, you nip at his finger. He groans again, then kisses your peach-sticky lips, bringing the sticky sweetness down your neck and behind your ear.

“Hey!” You finally open your eyes, giggling and playfully pushing him away. “You’re getting me all sticky.”

Sam cocks an eyebrow at you and gives you a silent smirk, but he doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t have to, he just reaches behind you and grabs a piece of watermelon. He takes a bite of it for himself, and a drop of juice drips onto your nose, then your chin, then down your neck. With the same smirk on his lips, Sam silently chews his bite of watermelon, then puts the rest in your mouth. He’s quick the second time and doesn’t let you nip at his fingertips, but you do one better and grab his hand and bring it to your mouth.

With your eyes locked on his, you suck his finger into your mouth, and swirl your tongue down to his knuckle licking away the peach, watermelon, and a little bit of you away from his skin.

Sam’s eyes go dark, and he watches you pull your mouth off his finger with a show. He kisses the watermelon drips from your face and neck, and chuckles into your skin. “You might need a shower.”

“ _Might_?”

“Maybe in a little bit.” He kisses the tip of your nose. “That was…”

You reach toward the bowl of fruit, take a grape, pop it into Sam’s mouth, and then kiss him. “That was _good_.”

Sam chews on his grape. “It was,” he agrees in a gravelly whisper. “I just want to make sure you’re okay; I know that was a big step for you – for _us_.”

“It was, but like I said before: it’s different with you, but this time was even more different.”

“Oh yeah?” Sam kisses your forehead and smoothes the hair from your face. “How so?”

“Well, _before_ when we did _this_ , it was different, and I wasn’t afraid because it was you, but _this time_ , it’s different because _I_ feel different, and I’m not afraid. I guess more time has passed, things have happened, and everyday little bits of myself come back to me. Earlier, when I had to not be afraid for a minute to find the cleansing ritual, I felt like _me_ again – I wasn’t scared, and I didn’t want that to go away. It was a good feeling. I mean, sure, I was petrified that something was going to happen to you – the thought still scares me – but that’s _normal_ fear and anxiety. The scared part of me is still there, and I’m sure it will be for a long time, but I think I can deal with it now; I know how not to let it control me. I don’t have anything to be scared of, and even though a part of me has known that this whole time, I really _know_ it, now. And I know that probably doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to you, but it does to me.”

Sam smiles. “No, it makes sense. It’s good to hear you talk like that – to hear you talk _like you_. You’ve done so well, and not that I didn’t know that you would, because I did know, I’m just happy to see _you_. I meant what I said before: you’re strong – so much more than you even know.”

You snuggle your face into Sam’s neck and whisper, “ _I’m_ more important than being afraid.”

*//*

Dean’s not deaf, and apparently the bunker walls are _not_ sound proof. Dean always assumed that they were, but as he unpacks his bag, a sound travels down the hallway and into Dean’s bedroom, and he stops mid-stride to listen. As soon as he hears it, the sound is gone, but he still stands completely still for a few seconds, and all he hears is the hum the bunker always seems to make, so he shrugs and goes back to unpacking his bag.

When he goes back to putting his things away, he hears it again, and there’s no mistaking it the second time. The sound is you, making a whine or a whimper, and Dean made a promise to himself when he _got_ _back_ that he would never let anything happen to you again. He doesn’t know if you’re crying or scared or where the hell Sam is, but Dean slowly makes his way out of his bedroom and down a couple doors to Sam’s room.

He raises his hand to knock, but stops when he hears it again.

You’re not crying, or scared, or in pain – he can tell it’s quite the opposite, actually, and he hears you moan, “Sam… Please…”

Then he hears Sam’s voice. “You have to tell me to stop if --”

Then it’s you again. “Don’t want you to stop.”

Stunned at what he’s just overheard, Dean backs away from Sam’s bedroom door until he’s safely inside his own bedroom. He closes his door behind him and leans back against it.

Dean’s known for quite a few months now that you and Sam have been together. Back in that motel in Ohio, Dean watched with black eyes when you woke Sam up from one of his many nightmares, and he invited you into his bed. Dean’s hated himself for it, but back then, he watched you and Sam in bed _together_ , that time in Montana. However, even before then – back in the days of Luke and Leia – he had a pretty good idea where you and Sam were headed, but over his time _back_ he’s worried that his actions wrecked anything you and Sam could have ever had. 

Knowing what he heard in the hallway holds every indication that his worries were wrong, Dean walks away from his door with a little smile on his face; it makes him happy to know that he didn’t manage to ruin _everything_.

He steps over his bags of clothes on the floor and plops down on his bed, grabbing his MP3 player and earbuds on the way. The bunkers walls still aren’t sound proof, but the Zeppelin blasting through his head phones drowns out everything.

About an hour later, he cautiously takes one earbud out of his ear and listens – all he can hear is the quiet hum of the bunker and the _tick-tick_ of his clock. Deciding to go get that breakfast he promised you before, Dean pulls his boots back on his feet and tucks his wallet in his pocket next to the mixtape you made him – it hasn’t come out of his pocket since he listened to it in the Impala. To Dean, the plastic mixtape is a little reminder that if you can work past your horrors, there’s a chance that he might be able to as well.

As soon as he takes the first step out into the hallway, Dean knows he’s not alone. Slowly, he looks down the hallway and outside the bathroom door, and he sees Sam’s got you up pressed against the wall with your legs wrapped around his waist, whispering something into your ear. Dean can’t hear what his brother is saying, but whatever it is, it must be good because your head falls backward and your laugh travels all the way down the hall to Dean’s ears.

He waits a minute until you and Sam are safely in the bathroom and the door is closed behind the two of you before he continues his quest to get breakfast.

For the first time in a long time, your laughter rings in Dean’s ears, drowning out the continuous replaying of the events from _that_ night.

*//*

Up until this moment, Sam’s never understood why the Letters had a bathtub, and not just a normal bathtub either. It’s long enough for an average guy to stretch out in – not long enough for Sam to stretch out in, sure, but he doesn’t care. The bathtub is there, and that’s all that matters.

Resting his back against the cool porcelain of the tub, Sam’s got his knees bent and leaning against the curved sides with you lying back on his chest. Your eyes are closed, and your hands rest on his knees with Sam’s fingers threaded through them. Both his and your skin is flushed pink from the heat of the water and the _continuation_ _of_ _earlier_ _events_ , and Sam can hear water dripping off the sides of the tub onto the puddles previously made on the tile floor.

“What did you mean, before?” He asks while kissing the top of your head. “When you said you were more important than being afraid? Not that I don’t think that’s true, I’m just wondering where that came from.”

Shifting a little bit and sloshing more water over the sides of the tub, you nuzzle backward up into Sam’s neck. “It was just something Dean said to me on the phone when he first called me to get the cleansing ritual. I was scared, and he told me it was okay to be scared, but that there were more important things than being afraid.”

“Dean said that?” Sam asks, his voice filled with surprise.

“Yeah, he told me this thing about him, just something he used to do when you were kids: he had to be brave and take care of you, and that you were more important to him than being scared.”

Sam simply answers, “Oh.”

You turn and look up at Sam. “Did you know he did that?”

He nods his head, but he doesn’t elaborate.

“Then I flipped out on him and told him that I couldn’t do that – I couldn’t just _decide_ not to be scared anymore, because if I could, I would have done that a long time ago. Dean said he knew that, and he asked me not to be scared just for a minute. He said that I couldn’t do what he did, that I had to be brave for _me_ , ‘for that sassy little brat, who calls him out on his shit, never changes the oil on her car, listens to horrible music, and subjects his baby to The friggin’ Bangles,’ he said I had to do it for me. So… I did. I found the ritual, and it felt good. Like I said, I felt like me, and I want to keep that; I’m working hard to keep that – _for me_.”

Sam cranes his neck down so he can kiss you. “Do you even know how amazing you sound?”

“ _Amazing_? I don’t know about th --”

He cuts you off with another kiss. “I do.”

After a little while of relaxing in the tub, the water starts to get cold, and Sam looks at your fingers. “You’re starting to get pruney.”

You flips Sam’s hands over and look at his fingertips. “You too. Should we get out?”

He chuckles. “Probably.”

For another few minutes, you and Sam sit in the tub, and the water gets even colder.

Sam kisses the back of your neck. “I thought we were getting out?”

“Nuh uh; comfy.”

“C’mon, we’re gonna freeze in here.” He nuzzles the side of your face. “Let’s go get some coffee.”

You jokingly sigh, but stand up from the tub, trying to hide a shiver. Sam follows you and reaches for the two towels on the counter. He doesn’t miss your shiver, so before he wraps his towel around his waist, he drapes the thick white towel around your shoulders and rubs you through it to try to warm you up. You watch Sam wrap his towel around his waist, he catches your eye and steals a kiss, then the two of you pad over to the sink to brush your teeth and comb out your hair.

You find all of your things right away, but Sam starts to dig through the drawers under the sink. “Crap. All my stuff is in my bag. I’ll be right back.”

“Nope; not all of it.” You stop him. “You’ve got stuff in here too.” You pull out a Ziplock bag full of random deodorants, after shave, razors, and combs and hand them to Sam.

He looks at the bag. “Where did all this stuff come from?”

“I’ve been unpacking yours and Dean's bags and doing both your laundry for how many months now? When there’s more than one deodorant or whatever left over in your bags, I just toss it in here. I think between you and Dean, you two have more products than I do.”

Sniffing through the smells to find his own deodorant, Sam smirks and shakes his head at you. “You got a bag of tooth brushes in there too?”

“Nope.” You dig in the drawer that is just your things and hand him a toothbrush still in the packaging. “I’ve got this though.”

“Anything else in here I should know about?” He teases.

“I think that’s it.” You shrug with a smile.

After Sam’s teeth are brushed, his own deodorant is found and used, and he uses your comb on his hair, pulls his jeans up his legs, and watches you start to shrug his shirt over your shoulders. “You’re seriously putting my shirt on, _again_? I wore it for two days straight.”

“I’m telling you, it smells good.”

Sam grabs a fresh towel and wraps you in it, tossing his shirt in the laundry basket. “And I’m telling you…” He kisses your forehead. “I have a whole drawer full of shirts, that aren’t covered in two days’ worth of _my_ sweat.”

“But they don’t smell as good,” you playfully whine.

Rolling his eyes and scooping your towel wrapped body in his arms, Sam starts to carry you out of the bathroom.

“Sam, wait. Give me your shirt.”

He sets you down. “What?”

“I can’t… Not _just_ in a towel… Dean could walk out of his room any minute, and I don’t need my ass hanging out.”

“Your ass is _not_ hanging out.”

“Saaaam.”

“It’s dirty!” He laughs when you make a face at him. “Fiiiine.” He digs in the cupboard in the bathroom, and hands you a gray bathrobe.”

“You want me to wear the dead guy robe?” You tease, but still pull it on. Sam helps you tie it around your waist, then scoops you up again, and carries you down to his bedroom.

On the way, you ask, “Why did the Letters even have a tub like that?”

Sam chuckles at your random question and kisses your forehead. “I have no idea.”

*//*

When Dean comes back toting breakfast, he finds you and Sam sitting at the table reading the paper with wet hair and drinking coffee. 

“I come bearing gifts,” Dean says with a grin as he puts the plastic to-go bags of food on the tabletop. “Whole wheat, apple cinnamon waffles for the resident Sasquatch.” He pulls out a styrofoam container and sets it down in front of Sam, who huffs at the term of endearment. “A short stack of flapjacks and a side o’pig for the resident Short Stack.” Dean eyes grow large at his use of your nickname, and his cheeks pale a little bit. “Crap. ______, I’m sorry; I didn’t mean…”

Sam and Dean both hold their breaths and wait for your response.

You pause for a second. _It’s okay; that’s just Dean – **your** Dean. _ Then you hold out your hands. “Well, gimme! I’m starving! A woman cannot live on pizza from three days ago and a bowl of fruit, alone.”

Dean hesitantly hands you your food, and when you take it, you watch him blow out a little breath.

Sam kisses the side of your forehead and wraps his arm around your shoulder and rubs your back softly.

“And for me,” Dean starts after he sits down. “Eggs, double order of pig, hash browns, and toast.”

Sam rolls his eyes at the amount of food in front of his brother, and the three of you open your to-go containers and start to eat, but you notice something’s missing from your breakfast.

“Correct me if I’m wrong…” You look up at Dean. “But isn’t _a side of bacon_ supposed to have _four_ pieces and not just _three_?”

Dean smirks. “The cooks musta forgotten to give you the last piece.”

“Suuure.”

When Dean reaches into his to-go bag for his plastic utensils, you quickly lean across the table and steal a piece of bacon from his styrofoam container.

“HEY!” Dean laughs and tries to reach for his stolen bacon, but you hold it out of his reach, taking a bite.

You grin proudly and chew on your bite of bacon. “One point for the resident Short Stack.”


	13. I See the Girls Walk By Dressed in Their Summer Clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every day has been a battle and a fight to make it, to get passed _that night_ – for you _and_ for the Winchesters. But as the days have turned into weeks and then months, things have gotten easier, normal even, and things start to feel good – the way they once did.
> 
> Still plagued with guilt for the things he believes _he’s_ done to you, Dean wants to give you – and himself – the normal that you’ve wanted for so long. So, he pushes his self-loathing aside as best he can, and makes a gesture, doing everything he’s able to help you tackle one of the last milestones you’ve made for yourself, and everything seems to fall into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, we are winding down to the end here... I won't commit to saying exactly how many chapters left, but it will happen, very soon. 
> 
> First and foremost, a super-ENORMOUS thank you goes out to my pal and writer extraordinaire, [LadyAtaralasse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ataralasse/pseuds/lady_ataralasse). She's amazing, and if you haven't read [Shenanigans and Blarney](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1330885/chapters/2771905) by now, you should... _after _you finish this chapter. :)__
> 
>  A second thank you is needed for my readers who've sent me emails (spectaculacularsammy@gmail.com) and messaged me on [Tumblr](spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com) to check and see if I'm still alive, and if I'm ever going to post another chapter of this. :) I promise, this _will_ get finished, it's just been taking me more time to get each chapter finished as we near the end.
> 
> Lastly, there are a few classic rock references: _Space Oddity_ can be found [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nP6xBFyA_aw), (it's the song from Clap Your Hands if You Believe, where Dean is tussling with the nippled "fairy") and _Rebel, Rebel_ can be found [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sa6bI_95G9I) \- both David Bowie songs. The other song reference is NOT a classic rock reference, but I'm sure you'll all get it, and it can be found [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfWlot6h_JM).  
>  -  
>  _I See a Red Door_ 's title and chapter titles are based off of The Rolling Stone's _Paint it Black_ , which can be listened to [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo)  
> 

_“Correct me if I’m wrong…” You look up at Dean. “But isn’t a **side** of bacon supposed to have **four** pieces and not just three?”_

_Dean smirks. “The cooks musta forgotten to give you the last piece.”_

_“Suuure.”_

_When Dean reaches down into his to-go bag for his plastic utensils, you quickly lean across the table and steal a piece of bacon from his styrofoam container._

_“HEY!” Dean laughs and tries to reach for his stolen bacon, but you hold it out of his reach, taking a bite._

_You grin proudly and chew on your bite of bacon. “One point for the resident Short Stack.”_

_-_

There’s a smile on Dean’s face. Well, not _on his face_ , so much as it’s really just a feeling. Maybe he _is_ smiling? He doesn’t know; he’s not in front of a mirror. He is, however, sitting at the table pretending to read the newspaper and eat his breakfast, and he has been ever since you stole his bacon and called yourself ‘Short Stack.’ The smile – or _whatever_ it is – makes Dean think to himself, _This feels good, almost…normal._

He sits across the table from you and Sam while the three of you eat, watching from behind his newspaper – trying not to _watch_ – as you eat every bite of your breakfast. Just as you poke the last bite of pancake in your mouth, Dean almost passes you what’s left of his breakfast, but as soon as the thought crosses his mind, Sam cuts a healthy portion from one of his waffles and slides it into your empty to-go container.

Even though there’s an _actual_ smile on _your_ face as you eat your piece of waffle and look up at Sam with goofy _goo-goo_ eyes, Dean can still see that under said _goo-goo_ eyes, there’s a shade of dark that still hasn’t quite gone away, and the color of your cheeks still isn’t what he’d once grown accustomed to seeing over the time you’ve lived with them.

On more than on occasion, since Dean’s _been back,_ he’s seen Sam come out of the kitchen with three plates of food. One plate is always given to Dean, and the other two are always for you and Sam. Dean is positive you barely pick at your food because when Sam brings the dishes back into the kitchen, one plate is always empty, while the second plate is really just rearranged and maybe missing a random grape or crust of sandwich. Dean knows you haven’t been eating enough, and not that he blames you, because he doesn’t – his eggs, double order of pig, hash browns, and toast are the first real food he’s had, in “proper” quantities, for months – he understands the feeling; he just wants better for you.

Dean’s had this sick feeling that almost constantly twists and gnaws and gnashes at his insides, and it pretty much allows him to only down his meals in the form of distilled or fermented liquids. Since he knows you’re not one to drink your feelings, for a time, you pretty much just stopped eating. However, to Dean’s relief, over the past while, you’ve made at least one appearance a day, eaten until you’ve had your fill, and even just sat with him and Sam while they doled out cases to other hunters or did research. Sometimes, you even helped. 

Every day, Dean’s seen little bits and pieces of the _real_ you that he remembers from _before_ , come back, and he can see the light, day by day, brighten your eyes the way they once were. He sees the way you look at Sam, how you laugh and smile, and how you grab Sam’s hand simply because you want to – _not_ because you’re scared. But more than that, over the past couple weeks, Dean’s caught glimpses of you standing on your own, no Sam in sight, and it was _you_. To Dean, seeing you like that, was like he was seeing an old friend, someone he hadn’t seen in what felt like _ages_ , and that made him smile, too – a _real_ smile.

Of course, he’s still Dean Winchester, and deep down, there’s still a part of him that isn’t convinced that he deserves to smile or see old friends or anything good – considering his sins – but he’s still got that black plastic mix tape in his back pocket, and he tries to convince himself, every hour of every day, that if you think he deserves it, so should he.

-

Later that day, Sam and Dean are down in the Letters’ firing range, blowing some holes into targets while you’re in Sam’s bedroom taking a nap.

Dean empties out his clip – perfect grouping, of course – then he puts his gun down. “So, uh, ______ seemed good this morning. She ate, laughed… _stole_ _my_ _bacon_ …”

Sam smirks and gathers his empty shells up in his hand. “Yeah, she just needed time, Dean. It’s good that you got to see a part of her that only I’ve seen in the past few weeks. She’s wanted something like this morning’s breakfast for a long time now; she’s wanted _normal_.”

“Kinda thought she’d be down here shredding up these targets with us. _Before,_ she was gettin’ pretty good.”

“It’s not you,” Sam insists carefully. “She was awake and nervous and afraid for almost three days straight. She just needs rest is all.”

Dean nods his head and collects his empties, tossing them in an old coffee can next to the door before both he and Sam exit the range. They each grab a couple beers from the fridge before making their way to the main room of the bunker.

“So, I had a thought when I was out getting breakfast,” Dean starts after sitting down and taking a pull from his beer. He sees Sam get that _annoying-little-brother_ look on his face, but Dean’s the _big_ _brother_ , so he cuts Sam off at the pass, “And _no_ , it didn’t hurt, so shut your damn face.”

Sam holds his hands up and laughs. “I didn’t _say_ anything.”

“Aaaaanyway, I just wanted to run it by you before I did anything.”

“Sure.”

“Awhile back, _______ texted me and asked me to watch that stupid Muppets movie with her.”

“ _Labyrinth.”_

“Right; so, this morning when I went to grab breakfast, I bought Red Vines and popcorn, and I thought that maybe if _you_ thought she was up for it…”

“Dean, all you have to do is ask her.”

“I just… I don’t wanna catch her off guard or freak her out. _______ seems like she’s doin’ good. _You_ _two_ seem like you’re doin’ good, and I don’t wanna screw that up… _again_.”

Sam opens his mouth to remind his brother that _he_ didn’t screw anything up, but Sam can tell by the look on Dean’s face that he doesn’t want to hear it. “Next time _______ is out here, _just_ _ask_ _her_. I’m sure she’ll be fine. All she wants is for things to be normal, and _that’s_ pretty normal. We used to do movie nights all the time.”

Dean rubs absentmindedly at The Mark. It burns, and reminds him that he’s not normal, in fact, he’s pretty damn far from it. He’s hunted monsters since his teens, was meant to be Michael’s vessel, met the Devil, he’s been to _both_ Heaven and Hell, not to mention Purgatory, he’s died more times than he’s ever cared to count, the most recent time turned him into a demon – _a monster_ , and _all_ that’s still there, just hiding under the surface. Dean knows he’s not normal; he can _feel_ he’s not normal.

Sam sees the expression on his brother’s face, and it tells him _exactly_ what Dean’s thinking. He sighs and checks his watch, knowing there’s nothing he can say to make Dean feel better. “Look, she’s been asleep for over an hour, and she’ll probably be up soon. If you’re worried about freaking her out or putting her on the spot, just text her; that’s what she did when she was nervous about talking to you.”

After downing about half of his beer, Dean digs in his pocket for his phone. When he pulls it out, the mix tape that’s been in his pocket for almost three days comes along with it, and he takes a minute to look at it. Seeing _From: Short Stack,_ in your handwriting, makes a half-smile form on his lips. He shoves the tape back into his pocket, taps on your name in his phone, takes a deep breath, and sends a text.

            **DeanW: You still doing your Rip Van Winkle impression?**

For ten seconds, Dean stares at the screen of his phone, then sets it down on the table.

Twenty more seconds pass, and he finishes his beer.

At the minute mark, Dean cracks open his second beer.

“Dean, she’s probably still sleeping.”

Dean tosses Sam a look, but doesn’t say anything.

Two minutes pass and still nothing.

Three minutes later, Dean’s second beer is gone, and he grabs Sam’s second beer.

Sam doesn’t argue.

Five minutes of dead silence later, Dean grumbles something under his breath about the Impala needing her oil changed, and he gets up from his chair. He’s seven steps from the table when his phone vibrates and the screen lights up.

Dean all but sprints back to the table and lunges at his phone.

            **You: I prefer Sleeping Beauty, if you don’t mind.**  
            **DeanW: You would. :)**  
**You: Does Sam know about your addiction to emoticons? I think it might be time for** **an intervention.**  
**DeanW: Dean Winchester does NOT use emoticons. Simple slip of the keys.**  
**You: Yeah, yeah. Denial is the first sign. So I’m awake now. What’s up? Case?**  
**DeanW: Nope. Thought maybe I could cash in my raincheck and we could watch** **that David Bowie movie you’re always yammering on about.**  
**You: You want to watch _Labyrinth_? What about your aversion to men in lycra?**  
**DeanW: I may have to lower my blast shield during the moments involving full** **frontal spandex, but I’ll live. So what do you say? Me, you, and Sammy.** **Movie night? :)**

Dean holds his breath just a little bit as he waits for your reply, but fifteen seconds pass, and the smile that he doesn’t remember making falls to a flat line.

When the back light on his phone shuts off, he can feel the heat bloom under the skin of his arm, burning and scorching like the fires of a place Dean works so hard not to think about, but the thoughts never really leave.            

It wasn’t too long ago that you messaged Dean and asked _him_ to watch a movie. He remembers what he did: he saw the text and froze, and now he supposes you’re doing the same thing. He wishes he could take it all back. There’s a lot of things Dean’s done in his life that he wishes he could take back, but he knows full well there’s no such thing as take backs, and that things you do never really go away.

Sam’s watching his brother. He saw Dean’s whole mood change once you messaged back whatever your reply was. He assumes it’s complete and utter smart-assery since you and Dean are both fluent in it, but then Dean’s phone stops vibrating, and Sam sees the screen light go out. He watches his brother’s face fall.

“Dean, just give her a minute,” Sam says gently.

Dean sets his phone down on the table and nods his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have…”

Both brothers sit in a thick moment of silence that seems to go on forever.

“I just can’t imagine a world where _Dean_ _Winchester_ would _ever_ voluntarily watch _Labyrinth_ ,” your voice cuts through the painful silence of the room, making Sam spin around in his chair and Dean’s head fly up from staring at his phone. You grin at them both. “Plus, Sam’s already been subjected to all the David Bowie lycra and spandex scenes more times than I’m sure he cares to admit, so here.” You set a handful of movies on the table. “All movies that I love, but are also ‘Winchester approved’.”

A proud smile spreads on Sam’s face. When you sit down in the chair next to him, stealing the last swallow of his beer, he reaches over and kisses the side of your face and puts his arm around your waist, his hand resting on your hip. “You’re amazing,” he whispers softly in your ear.

“You aren’t so bad yourself,” you whisper back to Sam with a playful grin.

“Alright, you two…” Dean teases without looking up from his stack of movies, but the smile is back on his face.  

He rifles through the stack, tossing aside the _Rambo, Goodfellas, Scarface,_ and _The Godfather_ movies because even though Dean knows you chose them, he knows you chose them _for_ him _,_ and he’s not sure you’re up for blood and gore. Maybe you are, but he’s not taking any chances. Ultimately, he chooses _The Fellowship of the Ring_ ; it’s got minimal blood, little to no _people-on-people_ violence, and he knows you love it.

Dean slides the movie back toward you and stands up from the table. “You two go fire up the TV and DVD player in Sammy’s room, and I’ll go grab us some more beers and some snacks.”

“Red Vines?” You ask in a hopeful voice that Dean’s not heard in a long time.

He grins and tosses a, “One does not simply watch a movie without Red Vines,” over his shoulder as he makes his way into the kitchen.

-

The popcorn is popped, the Red Vines are unwrapped, and the beer is cold. Dean’s in the chair with his feet up on Sam’s bed, Sam’s got his arm wrapped around you as you lean into his chest, and Hobbits are afoot.

All three of you are surprised at how normal everything feels. Sam stays close, but doesn’t hover. He keeps his arm around your shoulder and back, but you’re the one who pushes yourself closer to him and wraps his arm around your waist. Of course, Sam doesn’t mind.

Both he and Dean have noticed your hands don’t shake or fidget with the hem of Sam’s shirt or white-knuckle-grip anything. They haven’t seen you curled up in a ball with your knees tight to your chest, and they haven’t watched fear flicker across your face, or witnessed you struggling to breathe – not once.

Sam notices other things too: Dean hasn’t rubbed at the inside of his arm since he sat down in the chair, and his face – for the time being – doesn’t have a constant look of worry, guilt, or shame plastered across his eyes and his brow. Sam hasn’t seen you or Dean this relaxed in a long time, and he can’t help but hope another step has been made in the right direction.

Still exhausted from the stressful and worrisome events of _both_ Sam and Dean being gone, Sam being cursed, and you knowing the very real possibility of what that could have meant, once the movie plays for nearly an hour, your eyes start to droop. You could have napped for three times as long as you did earlier, but finally being at the point of _normal_ you’ve wanted for so long, is as comforting as you once had found it, and you feel yourself slump against Sam.

Sam eases your beer from your hand and gives it to Dean, who sets it on the end table.

“I was drinking that,” you mumble drowsily.

“Okay, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean teases.

“Do you want me to shut off the movie, and we can pick it back up tomorrow?” Sam asks you softly.

“Nope.” You curl up next to Sam. “M’awake. Just listening. Don’t shut it off.”

Dean pulls the extra blanket up from the end of Sam’s bed and drapes it over you, and Sam finishes by pulling it up to your chin. “Okay.” He lightly kisses the top of your head. “We’ll leave it on.”

Three minutes later, you’re completely asleep.

Sam and Dean watch the movie in silence, each taking turns to steal glances at your peaceful sleeping, both of them knowing that this night has nothing to do with Hobbits, or rings, or gray-bearded wizards, but each of you finding the normal in the one way you all find familiar.

After the movie finishes as the credits start to roll, Dean gets up to shut off the TV.

“I was watching that,” you sleepily proclaim.

“You were sawin’ logs,” Dean teases you as he takes the DVD out and puts it back in its case.

“I do _not_ snore,” you answer around a yawn.

“Maybe not, but you didn’t ask even _one_ of your crazy questions through the whole thing; you were _out cold_.”

You look up at Sam for confirmation that you were sleeping. He nods. “I’m sure I can think of at least _one_ question that not even _you_ _two_ can answer.”

Dean snorts. “Lay it on me.”

You think hard for a second. “Why are Hobbits’ doors round and not rectangle?”

Immediately, you feel Sam start to chuckle silently next to you, and Dean just looks at you, a little shocked.

“Sammy, you wanna take that one?”

Sam shakes his head. “I got nothing.”

Dean laughs to himself and puts the DVD on Sam’s shelf. “Only you, Short Stack…only you.”

When he sees you sleepily smile – and _not_ panic – over his careful usage of his favorite nickname for you, he gathers up the empty beer bottles, the popcorn bowl, and the half-eaten bag of Red Vines, then starts toward Sam’s door, but you stop him.

“Dean, wait.” He turns to back toward you and Sam, and you silently mouth to him, _Thank you._

Dean gives you a smile and a nod of his head, then closes the door behind him.

His initial plan was to go into the kitchen and find another six-pack of beer or a midnight snack of the distilled variety, but when Dean gets to his bedroom door, he realizes he’s exhausted, like the if-I-close-my-eyes-right-now-I’ll-fall-asleep, exhausted. He surprises himself when he goes straight into his bedroom, yanks off a couple top layers of shirts, and tosses them to the floor. He empties out the pockets of his jeans – keys, wallet, knife, gun, extra clip, and random cash on the dresser, but your mix tape has a place all its own. When it’s not in his pocket, he keeps it on his end table, next to the picture of his mom.

Dean kicks off his jeans, moves the blankets and sheets down his bed, flops down on his belly, shuts off the lamp, and lets out a contented sigh.

For the first time in months, Dean sleeps a heavy and dreamless sleep, drooling and snoring the whole night through, and when he wakes up in the morning, he has creases from his pillow case on his cheek.

-

After you and Sam have brushed away the taste of Red Vines, beer, and popcorn, and changed out of your clothes – Sam just hands you his shirt, he knows the drill – the two of you climb into bed.

He snaps off the lamp on his end table and gently pulls you closer to him. You’re both laying on your sides, so your back is pressed into his front.

“Today was a good day, huh?” Sam whispers and kisses the back of your neck.

“Mmm hmm,” you murmur, tilting your head so Sam has more room to kiss at your neck. He does, and you sigh when his fingertips ease his too big shirt off your shoulder to kiss further down.

“This okay?”

“Mmm hmm,” you answer again and turn your head so you can steal Sam’s mouth from your shoulder. “You don’t have to keep asking me that,” you manage to get out between kisses, “ _Everything_ you do is okay.”

Sam groans and slides his hand down to your hip, trying to touch every inch of you between one place and the other, to find the hem of his long plaid shirt. Once he does, his hand roams up under the cotton, caressing your skin and leaving a warm trail of heat in his palm’s wake, cupping one of your breasts and rubbing his thumb over a sensitive and raised nipple. You blow out a deep breath at the little touch and push your body back into Sam, rubbing against him perfectly, and he groans again in your ear, kissing and licking at the soft skin below it.

With Sam’s mouth pressing kisses into your skin, you reach back to touch him, massaging your hand up his strong thigh to grip his heated bulge through his boxer-briefs, rubbing him through the tautly-pulled cotton. This makes his mouth more eager to suckle at your skin, and he rocks his hips appreciatively into your soft hand, while his calloused, yet gentle, fingers trail down the smooth skin of your stomach to mirror your touches through your panties. Only when you slide your hand under the tight elastic of his boxer-briefs, to take his throbbing length in your hand, does he do the same to you, gently moving his middle finger down into your soft folds, earning himself a whine from you.

Increasing the volume and urgency of your sounds, the pad of Sam’s finger repeatedly draws slow circles around your clit, igniting a heat inside you, and his mouth eagerly searches for yours to drink down the little noises you make. With your mouth lost in Sam’s, your lips and tongue drinking just as much of him as he from you, your fist grips his cock, stoking him from base to tip, and he leaks hot and slick into every touch you give him.

Both yours and Sam’s hands not buried in each other’s underwear, work together to tug open the snaps of your borrowed shirt and help you quickly rid yourself of it. Once it’s gone, your skin finally pressed flushed and heated into Sam’s, you give his solid length one last pump of your hand, then take it away. Sam lets out a heavy groan at the loss, but after you push his hindering cotton boxer-briefs down his legs, his breath catches in his throat when your hand wraps back around him and finds its previous slow and fluid pace. With a little kick, his boxer-briefs are gone and your panties are dragged down your legs, only to land in an unknown place of Sam’s bedroom that neither of you think about again.

When the last pieces of clothing are gone, and your flushed skin is tucked hot and humid against Sam’s, his hand makes its way down your hip, pausing to grip the roundness of your ass, and to roam down your thigh and knee, to hook your leg back around his. With you wide open to him, Sam eases his fingers back into your dripping center to draw those same delicious circles around you clit. Moaning at his touches, you shift your hips just a little, and Sam’s cock goes from being pressed into the skin of your ass to springing free along the line of your soaked folds. A throaty sound comes from Sam when he feels your slickness against his length, warm and wet and inviting.

With his hips rubbing against your ass, and his cock nudging at the swollen lips of your pussy, Sam’s mouth still kisses at your trembling skin, making a burning path of lips and teeth from your neck, up your jaw to find your lips, sucking them into his mouth and rolling his tongue with yours. You sigh against his mouth when Sam uses his other hand to gently fondle your breasts, gasping through a moan when his hand, down in your folds, unexpectedly sinks a finger deep inside you. He groans when your core tightens around his finger, and he continues to massage your quivering walls, working his finger in and out, sliding in a second, then, finally, a third. He bites off a ragged breath and pulls you closer to him when he feels you move your hips wantonly against his hand, begging him for more.

Even though you told him he didn’t have to, Sam still whispers in your ear, “You ready?”

He groans when you nod your head and turn your face to seize his mouth again. As Sam kisses you, he takes his hand away from your center and rubs himself more firmly through your wetness, making your shared soft breaths turn to mutual heavy moans when he eases himself inside you, stretching you in a way that makes you melt.

After a couple gentle thrusts from Sam, his hand drags up the curve of your hip and down the soft slope of your waist, to find your arm, and tuck it back around his neck. With his mouth still kissing yours, he wraps his own arm around your middle, anchoring you against his body, and together you both move in the darkness of Sam’s bedroom. Quiet ‘I love you’s are exchanged with deep kisses, alongside hitched breathes and heavy sighs, making you both dizzy from breathing in each other’s used air, but still coming back for more.

Sam’s hips move forward, yours move back, meeting in the middle and making that heat bloom low in your abdomens. When he feels your fingers thread through his hair and your inner walls clench tightly around him, Sam’s hand finds its way back down between your legs and moves slick and slow around your swollen and needy clit.

At first touch, you gasp out Sam’s own name into his mouth and rock your hips desperately back into him, urging him to move deeper and harder. Quickening his fingers, Sam gives you what you need by holding you even more tightly against him and shifting his hips just a little bit to lengthen and further his thrusts inside you.

Moving together with an urgent hunger and need, the heat in your middle fans out across your skin, making you gasp and melt into Sam when you come, whining against his lips, kissing them harder, and moving your tongue with his. Seconds later, Sam comes, and his grip around you tightens when he grunts out a deep groan into your mouth. His hips stutter while his whole body flexes, and you can feel him twitch and jerk inside of you, pulsating against your sensitive walls.

Once you’ve both found release, his fingers slow from earnest swirls over your clit to soft and light petting between your legs, while he makes gentle and languid thrusts in and out of you before slowing to a stop.

After he carefully slips out of you, making him and you gasp and groan, he pushes himself up so he can reach your mouth more easily, and you roll onto your back, holding Sam close. His lips brush against yours, smiling through your kisses and heavy breaths, still sharing the same used air, letting it continue to make you both dizzy as you both catch your breath.

“You were saying?” You pant to Sam, nipping at his lips and kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I have no idea,” he chuckles breathlessly. “What was I saying?”

“That today was a good day.”

“Oh.” Sam murmurs through another kiss. “Yeah, I think _that_ just made it go a little bit beyond a _good day_.”

“Agreed,” you answer around a yawn.

“Still sleepy?”

“A little.” You laugh while reaching up and tucking a lock of Sam’s sweat-damp hair behind his ear. “Aren’t you?”

“Maybe a little,” Sam teases, nuzzling the warmed skin behind your ear and pressing a small kiss into your neck.

You both barely stay awake long enough to clean up and fall back into bed, tangling in each other’s arms.

-

Five hours later, Sam is kissing you again, just enough to gently ease you out of sleep and to tell you that he’s going for a run. He rubs your back and shoulders until your breath falls slow and even, then walks softly out of his room, dressed and ready for his run.

*//*

Later, Dean’s drinking his coffee and reading the news online when you shuffle, dressed for the day, but still partly asleep, into the room and sit down at the table next to him.

“Didya get enough sleep there, princess?”

You steal his coffee and nod your head, trying to hide a yawn. “Is this what’s on the menu for breakfast?”

“Was thinkin’ about going to get something since we’re still pretty low in the food department, unless you’re up for stale popcorn and Red Vines?”

You make a playfully disgusted face at Dean and take another drink of his coffee.

Another thought crosses Dean’s mind, but he’s not sure if he should say anything. Last night went so well, even if you did fall asleep less than an hour into the movie. He knows the fact that you _did_ fall asleep means that you were comfortable and relaxed being around him, and he doesn’t want to do anything to wreck that. Still, Dean knows you want normal. Sam’s told him this, and _you’ve_ told him this, hell, even _he_ wants normal, so he takes a deep breath.

“Would you… If you want, you and me, we could go get some breakfast? You can make sure the cook gives you _all_ _four_ _pieces_ of your bacon,” he tries to slide in a little joke to ease his own tension and hopefully yours as well. “And by the time we get back, Sammy’ll be back here and showered… If you want…to go…with me, that is.” _God, could I ramble more?_

He watches you closely, and though it probably wouldn’t be noticeable to just any old average person, Dean Winchester’s not average, and he’s got some pretty keen senses, so he sees when you freeze just for a fraction of a second, but then it’s gone.

“I haven’t left here in months,” you answer plainly, considering Dean’s offer.

Leaving the bunker is one of the last milestones you’ve set for yourself. Outside is big, it’s unknown, and there’s so many more forces out there that you can even begin to comprehend. The bunker is safe; nothing monster-y can get inside, and there’s nothing in its high ceilings and large spaces, or in the comfort of Sam’s warm bedroom that can hurt you. Still, there’s a part of you that knows you can’t shut yourself away, and you can’t ignore the world.

“You don’t have to,” Dean says gently. “Just wanted to put it out there and give you the option.” _Just wanted to give you normal._

You’re quiet for another minute, so Dean stays quiet too. He watches you look around the room, and you softly say, “I remember when this room felt too big.”

Dean looks around too, trying to think of something comforting and reassuring. “It’s a big room.”

“But what if --”

Dean cuts you off because he knows exactly what you’re going to say, “I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise.”

“Crowley, he was pissed off. I saw the way he looked at…” Dean watches you swallow. _“Him_ , and sometimes I wonder about Crowley, or someone else, using me to try to hurt you or Sam… _again_.”

Dean internally flinches at the thought and considers your fears – this one, in particular, has been a longtime fear of his own, having, at one time, _actually_ _happened_ , but he works really hard not think about that, right now. His first instinct is to do _that_ _thing_ and pretend he’s never worried about you getting hurt, so you don’t worry about it, but he has a feeling you’ve caught on to that, so he’s honest. “I won’t lie to you, if someone or some _thing_ did want to come after me and Sammy, you’d be the best way for them to do it, but that’s not gonna happen, _ever_ again; I won’t let it.”

“Dean… You can’t know that, but _I know_ , if I stay _in here_ , I’m safe.”

“_______...” He turns to face you. “You can’t stay in here forever. I mean, if you’re not ready to go out _today_ , that’s fine, but at some point you’re going to have to get clothes, or shoes, girl-type stuff, or the new Best of The Bangles album. You need fresh air and sunlight; you gotta get some color back in those cheeks of yours.”

He watches you think about his words and can practically see you running every possible scenario of what _could_ happen through your mind. It’s the last thing he expected, and he’s totally floored when it happens, but you nod your head.

“Go grab your jacket,” you tell Dean while rubbing the palms of your hands on your jeans. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to go passed the door, but I want to try; I _need_ to try because it’s been long enough.”

Dean feels that familiar smile creep up on his face. “I’ll be right back. Why don’t you shoot Sammy a text so he doesn’t come back and lose his damn mind when we’re both gone.”

It takes him just a minute to jog down to his room, shrug on his jacket, grab his gun, flask of holy water, angel blade, and a silver knife for good measure. _No one_ is going to hurt you if Dean has anything to say about it. He’d bring a bazooka with him if it could fit it discreetly in his pocket.

When he gets back to the table in the main room, you’re gone, but he hears the door open and then close, so he hustles up the stairs, and follows you outside. Dean finds you standing completely still in the morning sun, staring wide-eyed at the Impala.

He purposely walks noisily, so you can hear the crunch of his boots on the gravel. “It’s nice out today.”

You nod your head, but continue to stare at the Impala and its shiny black body. “You washed it.” _The Impala was filthy the last time I saw it._

“Yup; inside and out. She needed a bath pretty bad.”

“I haven’t looked at her in a few months.”

 _Yeah, since you and Sammy brought me back home, all black-eyed and demon-faced._ “You doin’ alright? If you don’t want to go, I can wait until Sam comes back, and then I’ll just go, that way you don’t have to stay alone in the bunker.”

“Being alone is easier than this,” you answer quickly, then take it back, “I didn’t mean…”

Dean shakes his head because he knows what you meant. There isn’t any blame in your voice, and he knows you’re just stating a fact. The difficulty you’re having right now isn’t about him, it’s deeper than that.

“I know you’re right,” you continue, “I can’t stay in the bunker forever.”

“We could take your car, if you want? I’m sure Ringo needs to get out on the road too.”

“No.” You take a step away from Dean and walk up to the Impala. “I can do this.” _I need to do this._

 _I know you can._ Dean watches you run your fingers over the door handle and take deep breaths. “You’re safe,” he tells you after he walks up to your side and raises his hand to touch your shoulder, but he changes his mind and quickly brings it back down to his side. “I swear if anything _ever_ comes after you again, they’d have to get through both me _and_ Sammy.”

Knowing Dean means every single word he says, you push the button on the handle, open the door, and sit down in the car. When Dean sees that you’re not going to jump right back out, he closes the door behind you and hustles around the front of the car to get in the driver’s side. When he sits down, he thinks that your cheeks have paled just a little bit.

“Hey, _______, you don’t have to do this; you don’t have to do _anything_ you don’t want to do,” Dean borrows some of the words he’s heard Sam say to you over the past couple months.

“We’re just going to get breakfast.” You swallow hard and breathe deeply. “I’ll be okay.” _This is good. This is normal._

“If you need me to turn around, or need anything at all, just tell me, and I swear I’ll do it.”

You nod your head. “I know.” _You’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen._

After starting up the Impala, Dean puts her down into drive and once the car is moving down the road, you can breathe easily again. Still, a flicker of the last time you were in the Impala shows in your mind, but you shake it off. _You’re with Dean – **your** Dean – and you’re safe. It’s going to be alright._

Dean watches you do this, and he’s pretty sure what you’re thinking about, so he takes a deep breath before following his earlier impulse and carefully rubs your shoulder. “You doin’ alright, kiddo?”

You smile up at him, happy that his friendly touch doesn’t make your heart race. “I’d be better if you turned on some music.”

Dean laughs, and it feels pretty amazing. “That’s my girl!” He digs in his pocket, pulls out your mix tape, and pops it in the cassette player.

♫ _But I keep cruising, can’t stop, won’t stop grooving._  
_It’s like I got this music in my mind saying,_  
“ _It’s gonna be alright!_ ” ♫

♫ _‘Cause the players gonna play, play, play_  
_And the haters gonna hate, hate, hate_  
_Baby, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake_  
_Shake it off._ ♫

♫ _Heartbreakers gonna break, break, break_  
_And the fakers gonna fake, fake, fake,_  
_Bab, I’m just gonna shake, shake, shake,_  
_Shake it off, Shake it off._ ♫

You and Dean laugh, in a familiar way, the whole way to the diner where you eat together and get an egg white and veggie omelet with toast for Sam.

On the walk back to the car, Dean catches you ogling a used book store that he knows you and Sam used to frequent, so he takes you in and jokingly tells you that you’re not leaving until you pick out a book. Once you do, he buys it for you, and then drives you back home, sounds of _Walk Like an Egyptian_ and _Margarittaville_ making you both grin on the ride back.

Dean lets the Impala idle when he pulls up to the bunker’s entrance.

“Aren’t you coming in?” You ask.

“Nope. I gotta go get some stuff for Ringo; he hasn’t been on the road in a while, and I’m sure his old ass needs a flush. I’ll be back later, _with_ some stuff for supper. We’ll make burgers, okay?”

Before you gather up the bags at your feet, you throw your arms around Dean’s neck. “Thank you so much for today.” Your voice cracks, and you smile through your tears, hoping your gesture lets him know _exactly_ what he did for you just now. Dean hugs you tighter as his response, and when you pull away you pretend not to notice that he wipes at his face.

You get out of the car, bags in hand, but before you close the door, Dean stops you, “Hey, Short Stack?” You smile at his term of endearment, and he smirks right back at you. “This was good, right?”

Slightly overwhelmed at exactly how good the morning really was, all you can do is keep your smile and nod back at him.

“Good.” Dean blows out a sigh of relief. “I’ll be back in a couple hours, okay? Call me if you think of anything else we need for supper, alright?”

You nod your head again, close the door, and watch the Impala drive off down the road. Dean waves through the open window before he turns the corner.

Practically running inside, grinning ear to ear at the feat you’ve just accomplished, you close the bunker door behind you, happily bound down the stairs, and fling the bags with Sam’s breakfast and your book onto the table.

“Sam?” You call out his name, wondering where he’s at.

You check your watch. 11:38AM. _He’s got to be back from his run by now._

You check his bedroom, and see that his running clothes and shoes are on the floor, so you know he’s home.

“Sam? I’m back! Where are you?”

You knock on the door and peek inside the bathroom, and when he’s not there, you move on to look the kitchen, the gun range, and finally, it dawns on you: Sam’s in the library.

Though the hallways, stairwell, and the twists and turns of the bunker, you finally reach the library, and just like you thought, Sam’s standing just inside the room with a book in his hands.

“Hey.” He looks up at you and smiles. “I was wondering when you’d get --”

You cut him off by running up to him and jumping up so you can wrap your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck. “I left the bunker,” you tell him while kissing him.

“I know.” Sam laughs through your kisses, but groans a little when you kiss him harder. “You sent me a text saying you were going to get breakfast with Dean.”

“I did.” You start to pull the snaps of Sam’s shirt open, wanting his clothes off _right now_. “ _Me_ ; _I_ left the bunker. Do you remember when I couldn’t even leave _your_ _room_?”

Sam’s figured out where this is going, and he is totally on board. His mouth doesn’t leave yours while he walks you over to a table in the corner of the library and sits you down on it, running his hands up and down your back. “I told you it would take time, but you’d get there; I knew you would.” After a minute of kissing and groping, Sam’s brain catches up with his hormones, and he takes his mouth away, realizing that the two of you are in the library where his brother could just walk in at any time. “Where’s Dean?”

You take his mouth back and pull at Sam’s shirts. “Back later. Said he had to get stuff for my car and food for supper.”

“Good,” Sam husks, yanking his shirts over his head while you work quickly to get his belt open, pulling it roughly from his belt loops and throwing it to the floor.

“Went out for breakfast.” You tug Sam’s boxer-briefs down his legs, taking him in your hands and kissing down his chest and abs, tasting and smelling his warm and musky scent, freshly showered since his run this morning. “Got you food, but it’s probably cold by now, sorry.”

“We have a microwave,” Sam tells you in a raspy voice while he pulls your shirts over your head, unclasps your bra, and gets your jeans down your legs.

Wrapping your legs around Sam’s waist, you pull him down over you as you lay back on the table. “I did it.”

“I knew you would,” Sam whispers while kissing down your neck, chest, and pulling your panties off, so he can rub his fingers into your folds. “You can do anything.”

“I know,” you purr against Sam’s lips, licking the palm of your hand and fingers, bringing them back between Sam’s legs. You drag one slippery finger up his solid shaft, and Sam’s eyes fall closed, his mouth wide open. Gripping him in your hand, you ease your slick and tight fist down the length of his cock, and his breath catches in the back of his throat when you squeeze your hand snugly at the base. Watching Sam’s face, sighing at how beautiful and blissed he looks, you bring your hand back up and tease the head of his cock, his eyes pop back open and a heavy moan comes out of his mouth.

As you hand works over him, Sam’s face falls to rest his forehead against you, and as he breathes heavily, he kisses and sucks down the sensitive skin of your neck, nipping playfully at your collar bone. His fingers match the slow speed of your hand, rubbing between your legs, alternating between little swirls around your clit and dipping two fingers inside you, spreading your wetness from one place to the other. When his fingers rub along your g-spot, your back arches, and Sam groans into your skin as he kisses your ribs.

“We can go on the couch,” he offers in a gravelly voice, kissing his way back up to your mouth.

“No,” you answer in a breathy tone. “Right here.”

“Don’t know if the table will hold me…”

“Doesn’t have to.” You reach up for Sam’s mouth again, and when he moves his warm body up to kiss you, his hips press against yours. Taking advantage of Sam’s position over you, and hinting at what you want and where you want it, you rub the head of Sam’s aching cock against your clit.

His eyes fall closed again, and a deep sound comes from within his chest, but he still manages to ask, “Are you sure?”

You rub him against your needy folds again, whining at your own movements. “Already told you… _Everything_ you do is okay.” You pull your feet up and rest them on the edge of the table, spreading yourself open wide in front of him. “Please,” you beg breathlessly.

Sam takes his hands away and brings them to your bent knees, rubbing your skin softly while he looks down at you, groaning deeply as he watches – and feels – you rub his cock through your wetness. “If you need me to stop, all you have to do is tell me.”

“I know,” you breathe.

Taking himself in his hand, already slick from you rubbing him up and down your dripping slit, Sam slowly eases the head of his cock inside you. He never takes his eyes away from yours, as he takes his time, slowly filling you up. You gasp at the stretch, slowly moving your hips up against Sam, feeling him slide in and out of you, and once he gives you a small thrust of his hips, your hands roam up his arms to his shoulders, urging him closer to you. His skin is warm and smooth as his firm chest rubs up and down yours. His breath is hot and heady against your cheek, and when your lips find his mouth he tastes just like he smells, making you dizzy for more.

Sam keeps his promise: he gives you everything you need and everything you ask for. When you pull him closer to you, he kisses up your body, dragging his tongue and raking his teeth on the way to your mouth. Wrapping your legs more tightly around him, your hips swivel up against his, asking for more, and Sam moves harder and faster, finding a quick pace the two of you haven’t reached in what feels like years.

One of Sam’s hand slides behind your head, his fingers winding in your hair as he lifts your face to his mouth, and his other hand holds you tightly at the small of your back to help you move harder into his thrusts. With your legs holding him by his waist, and your hands gripping his back, Sam’s large and beautiful body is draped over yours, and if you could get closer to him, you would.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours mixes with rapid breaths and hungry moans, filling the library, and it’s just you and Sam there to hear it. It’s you that feels him move heavy and thick in and out of your pussy, dragging over your g-spot and bringing you closer and closer to orgasm. It’s Sam who feels your walls clench tightly around his cock, squeezing him in all the ways that makes his head spin and pull the air tight from his lungs.

At the same time, both of your breaths start to get heavier as wave after wave of heat rolls through you and Sam, making you cling tighter to each other. One more time do Sam’s hips crash into yours, teeth clicking together as you both kiss each other sloppily, your shared motions almost frenzied, and then finally it all comes together.  

Sam watches you, watches your eyes flutter closed, watches you lick your dark and swollen lips, shiny from his kisses, and he exhales a broken breath when your body arches up off the table, pressing into his and shuddering when you wildly cry out. Watching you fall apart below him, feeling your wet opening grip and flutter around him, almost instantly throws Sam over the edge. His eyes squeeze shut, his whole body goes rigid when he comes, and your name falls from his lips in a hoarse and heavy breath.

When Sam opens his eyes again, you’re looking up at him with a satisfied look on your face. His lips are soft when they kiss their way to your mouth, and you both sigh when your lips touch, their surfaces burning deliciously, both puffy from dragging and nipping teeth.

With tender hands, Sam lifts you up off the table, cradling your head and moving you up along his flushed body so he slips out of you. He walks you both away from the table, to the couch, just a few feet away.

Still completely naked, Sam lays down on the cushions and holds you close, but you wiggle a little bit to pull out of his grasp. He lets you go and looks at you with a puzzled expression, noticing that you’re digging down into the cushions. He quietly chuckles when you pull out a tiny red and black plaid fleece blanket, that will barely even cover half of him, but he still takes it when you offer it and covers you from your neck to your feet, effectively covering him from his chest to his knees.

“So, you and Dean had a good morning, I take it, huh?” Sam kisses your forehead and runs his fingers through your hair, his hands warm to the touch.

“Yeah,” you answer back, rubbing your cheek against Sam’s sweat-damp chest, nestling into him and breathing him into your lungs. “He asked me if I wanted to go get breakfast with him, and at first I didn’t… It’s not that I didn’t want to go _with Dean_ , I just… I haven’t left in a while.”

“But it went okay, right? I mean, you seemed…in a _good mood_ when you got back…”

You smile into Sam’s skin, remembering how you jumped on him and ripped off his clothes. “This morning was good. Leaving was one of the last milestones I set for myself.”

Still running his fingers through your hair, Sam thinks back to when you talked about the milestones you made for yourself. He doesn’t have to ask what happened this morning with Dean, because it doesn’t matter; all that matters to him is that you’re safe and happy, and that you’re _you._

In a soft voice, Sam tells you how strong you are, how brave, courageous, and kind you’ve always been. He continues on to say how much he loves you, and how you make him so happy just being there with him.

Feeling so content and loved, you crawl up Sam’s middle until you reach his mouth to kiss him softly as your response. When you tuck your face between his chin and his chest, you whisper, “I love you too.”

Understanding the unspoken words behind your kiss, Sam holds you close, and continues carding his fingers through your hair until you fall asleep. When your breaths come in slow and go out deep and even, he closes his eyes too, knowing that for the first time in a long time, you’re both safe, and things are good.

Both relaxed and beautifully exhausted, you and Sam sleep for a little while, curled up together on the tiny couch with your fleece blanket. Later, once you both wake up, find your clothes on the floor next to the table, and get dressed, Sam steps closer to you and reaches down to kiss you, resting one hand on the table, but you pull away when you hear something behind you.

“What was that?

Sam doesn’t say anything, he just looks over your shoulder and pushes down a little bit on the table again – it’s uneven and wobbles off the floor a good inch, making the same noise you just heard. He smirks a little bit about the teetering table and how it got that way, stealing a handful of kisses before leading you out of the library, but before you walk out with him, you look back at the table and its wobbly legs. It shifts one more time before finally settling on its three sturdy legs, one leg still not quite right.

The table never sits level again.

*//*

When Dean makes it back to the bunker, arms full of fluids for Ringo and burger fixings for dinner, he sees your bags still sitting on the table and Sam’s breakfast untouched. After putting the groceries away, he knocks on Sam’s door, but there’s no answer, and the room is empty. Knowing his geek-brain brother, there’s only one other place Sam could be, and if Sam’s there, so are you: the library.

After navigating the bunker’s twists and turns, Dean comes upon the library, and the first thing he notices is a book on the floor and a table that looks like it’s seen better days. But it’s when he walks further into the library does he get the full mental picture. There’s a trail of clothing at his feet and Sam’s belt haphazardly lying in the corner. Dean chuckles to himself, and as he turns to leave, he gets a glimpse of you and Sam curled up on the couch in the far corner of the library. For just a second, he looks at the two of you, fast asleep and thankfully covered by a red and black plaid blanket.

On quiet feet, Dean leaves the library, makes his way back into the kitchen, grabs himself a couple beers, and retires to the main room with his laptop. Reclining back in his chair, with his feet up on the table, Dean clicks his way through the internet until he finds the exact movie he’s looking for: _Labyrinth_.

Unequipped with a blast shield, he suffers through the many David Bowie in spandex scenes, knowing he’ll never listen to the songs _Space Oddity_ or _Rebel, Rebel,_ the same way ever again. 

Just as the credits run on the screen, you and Sam come into the room, and Dean quickly closes his laptop, refusing to have any sort of conversation about the movie or how he _might_ have actually enjoyed it.

For just a second, he watches how you look up at Sam, and he notices your eyes have the same amount of _goo-goo_ as they did before, but the shade of dark underneath them seems to have disappeared. A familiar smile works itself onto Dean’s face, as he says, “’Bout time Sleeping Beauty and Sasquatch woke the hell up. I’m starvin’!”

You seem to be too pre-occupied with making eyes at Sam, but Dean catches a quick, _you didn’t_ , look from his brother. The smile on Dean’s face turns to a teasing and knowing grin, but he doesn’t mention what he saw in the library, instead he says, “C’mon, Short Stack, why don’t you help me fire up the stove, and we’ll make those burgers.”

“Extra onions?” You ask him, knowing full well that extra onions are a _must_ for any burger of Dean’s.

“You know it!”

-

Dean forms the hamburger patties and tosses them into a frying pan, seasoning them with various herbs and spices – all in perfect amounts - while Sam spreads the a bag of french fries on a baking sheet. He’s quick to catch a container of salt that flies at his head – courtesy of Dean – and the salt comes with a look that undoubtedly says _Dude! Don’t forget to salt the fries!_ Sam smirks and shakes his head because who forgets to salt the fries? Once they’re salted and in the oven, turning a crispy brown, Sam starts slicing cheese, lettuce, and tomatoes.

You stand relaxed and content between the brothers, chopping up onions and mushrooms to cook down and caramelize, for the burgers that Dean is tending to at the stove on your left. Every once in a while, he randomly pokes you in the ribs and shoulder with the handle of his spatula, and he gives you wide grins when you get him back with your elbow.

Sam stands close at your right, and he pops little cubes of cheese and bits of tomato in your mouth, sometimes trading out the cheese and tomatoes for little kisses when he thinks Dean’s not looking.

Of course, Dean sees the two of you, and the smile on his face widens. The Mark on the inside of his arm stays cool, and the twisting and gnawing at his insides slows to a dull and almost unnoticeable churn because everything feels good…dare he even think, _normal._


	14. With Flowers and My Love Both Never to Come Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winchesters have never done _normal_ very well, and nothing _good_ in their lives ever lasts long. _Everything_ comes with a price, but who is it that will pay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first part is a flashback to when Dean was gone and a few more details of your time on the road with Sam to bring Dean home.
> 
> The second part is the main story line.
> 
> Buckle up. Seriously. Buckle. The Hell. _Up_.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door_ ’s title and chapter titles are lyrics from [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.
> 
> To [lady_ataralasse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ataralasse/pseuds/lady_ataralasse), there simply aren't words. Thank you. :)

The night Sam brought Dean’s body back to the bunker, Sam drank himself into oblivion and sobbed himself hoarse against your chest. He clung to you while you held him close, making gentle shushing sounds, smoothing his hair, and rubbing his back. The tears poured down your cheeks too and everything ached.

Dean was dead. _Your_ -Dean was dead. Sam’s _brother_ was dead. And the bunker never felt so cold and empty.

Once Sam’s sobs turned into soft and mournful sounds, you helped him as best you could to his bed, which he collapsed on, exhausted from whiskey, pain, and grief. Carefully, you took off his boots and socks, covered him with a blanket, and wet a washcloth with cool water. As you wiped Sam’s tear-stained face, he looked up at you with sad eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but immediately passed out. Following suit, you kicked off your shoes and socks, and climbed into bed next to Sam. After curling up around him, both trying to comfort him, as well as seek comfort yourself, you fell into a restless sleep with tears in your eyes.

At that time, you and Sam had only had one hot and sweaty afternoon in the library, followed by an equally fleshy night in Sam’s bedroom. All that aside, Sam was still your friend, and you knew he needed you.

-

The next morning you woke up to Sam shoving clothes in his bag.

“Sam?”

He didn’t answer you. He just kept shoving handfuls of clothing into his bag and filling the pockets of his jeans with the things from the top of his dresser.

You got up from Sam’s bed and walked over to him. “What are you doing?”

He tossed you a harsh look, and in an angry and annoyed tone – one that you’d heard Sam use before for but _never_ while speaking to you – he answered, “Packing.”

“I can see that,” you replied softly.

“Then why did you ask?!”

You flinched at his tone, but since you were all too familiar with the way grief could twisted one’s emotions, you let it go. “Where are you going?”

“Dean’s gone.” Sam snapped and grabbed a silver flask off of his dresser.

“Sam… I’m so sorry. I know you said you were going to get someone to bring him back, but maybe --”

Sam’s hand squeezed the flask of holy water so tightly that you thought it was going to bend and form to the inside of his hand. “Dean’s _body_ …” Sam growled his words, but spoke in such a way that it sounded like he was talking to a small child. “It’s gone, and I’m going to go find the son of a bitch who did this to him.”

In your ignorance, you asked, “Metatron?”

After shoving the holy water in his pocket, Sam stomped away. “I’ll be back.”

You tore out of Sam’s bedroom and followed him down the hallway, not understanding a single word he was saying, but you didn’t care. “I’m coming with you.”

He picked up his pace, and his heavy footsteps were loud on the hallway floor. “No, you’re not.”

Still following him down the hallway, you stayed at Sam’s back when he stormed into the bathroom and snatched his shaving bag off the countertop.

“Sam, you don’t have to do this alone. I promise I won’t be in the way. I’ll just help you. You taught me how to do research; I can do that. Or I can get you food and coffee, so _you_ can do research, or check out leads, or whatever. You shouldn’t be alone right now. I can help! I know I can!”

Sam turned, finally looked at you, and gave you a firm, “No.” Then he marched back down the hallway.

“Sam…” You tried again, but he just kept walking, and you watched him.

With a heavy sigh, you brushed your teeth and started to get ready to take a shower. You were grieving for Dean, you were scared for Sam, and you wondered how long he would be gone this time.

-

Sam had it all planned out. Sure, his head was pounding, he was hung over as hell, and he was running only off of adrenaline, but he still had a plan. He had his bags and a car, and even though he had no idea where he was going, he still had his plan. He was going to find Crowley, then Dean, and he was going to bring his brother home.

Taking four steps at a time, he was up the staircase and out of the bunker in just a minute. He threw his bags in the backseat of the dark gray sedan, sat down in the driver’s seat, and put the key in the ignition, when his phone vibrated in his pocket.

            **[You:] Please be safe.**

For a minute, Sam let the car idle, and he stared at his phone.

_Sam, you don’t have to do this alone. I promise I won’t be in the way. I’ll just help you. You taught me how to do research; I can do that. Or I can get you food and coffee, so **you** can do research, or check out leads, or whatever. You shouldn’t be alone right now. I can help! I know I can!_

Your desperate words replayed in Sam’s mind, but he pulled the shifter down into drive and set off to find his brother.

A few minutes later, Sam pulled into the Gas ‘n Sip in Lebanon. He got gas, grabbed himself a cup of coffee, and when he walked up to the counter to pay for his things, there was a display of movies. Right in front, staring him right in the face, was a DVD copy of _Labyrinth_ , and just for a second Sam let himself feel everything he felt with you that day in the library. Sam only let himself feel those things for just a second, because he had a job to do; he _had_ to find Dean. So after he made his decision, he shoved his feelings for you back behind all the grief and fear and determination and paid for his coffee. Not waiting for his change, Sam stormed out of the gas station, got into the car, and slammed the door. He pulled out his phone, looked at your message, and sent one of his own.

            **[You:] Please be safe.  
            [SamW:] Be ready in 15.**

-

Fifteen minutes later, Sam was back at the bunker, and then the two of you were off. You had no idea where he was going, and you had a million questions, but you didn’t ask them - not a single one. You kept quiet, and so did Sam.

-

After driving all day and through the night, Sam pulled into a roadside motel around 2AM. Without a word, he exited the car and paid for a room, so you tried to make yourself useful and got all the bags out of the backseat. Once inside the room, Sam pulled a canister of salt out of one of the bags still attached to your arm and salted the door and windows. He didn’t even look at you, but you let it go. When he was done, you took back the salt, put it away in its proper bag, and dropped everything in the corner of the room. Rifling through your own bag, you pulled out a couple bottles of water and a box of Power Bars that you’d packed during your fifteen minute mad rush.

“Sam, you should try to eat something,” you said softly as you handed him two bars and one of the bottles of water. Sam hadn’t eaten once during the whole trip.

Barely looking up at you, Sam muttered, “I’m not hungry.” Then he grabbed his bag from the floor and stomped off toward the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

“Okay,” you whispered to the closed bathroom door.

 _It’s just the grief_ , you told yourself. _It’s not you. Just be supportive, try to help, and don’t get in the way. It’s not you._

Once you placed the Power Bars and the bottles of water on top of the dresser – where you hoped Sam would see them and maybe eat one or two, then you put your laptop bag next to Sam’s on top of the little kitchenette table. After changing into your pajamas, you dug in one of Sam’s bags and found a bottle of whiskey. You poured yourself a glass and sat down on the bed furthest from the door. Just a moment later, Sam came out of the bathroom, his hair dripping down his bare chest and only wearing a pair of black cotton pants. You poured him a glass too, and when you offered it to him, he took it without looking at you.

“Don’t leave this room,” Sam told you sternly after shooting his whiskey.

You nodded your head, poured him another shot, and then took a swallow from your own glass.

Sam emptied his shot, set his glass on the little table between his bed and yours, and laid back on his pillows. “You should go to sleep; we need to get up early.”

“Okay,” you murmured.

You collected the empty glasses and the bottle of whiskey and brought them over to the dresser, placing them next to the bottles of water and box of Power Bars. Even if it was just putting things away, you were determined to help Sam.

You dug your toothbrush out of your bag and went into the bathroom. When you came out a couple minutes later, Sam was rolled over on the bed closest to the door with his back toward you. With nothing left to do except go to bed, you flicked off the light and climbed under your covers. In the next bed, Sam may have been less than three feet away from you, but it felt like you and Sam were worlds away. The only comfort you had, lonely, afraid, and anxious in your own bed, was Sam’s fresh-from-the-shower scent filling the tiny motel room. That night you fell asleep smelling his musky deodorant and clean soap, and in spite of everything, you knew Sam would keep you safe.

Sam waited until he knew you were asleep, then he rolled over in his bed and looked at you. With only the headlights from the cars driving by on the highway sporadically lighting the room, he watched you sleep until his eyes felt heavy. Knowing the few words he’d spoken to you in the last twenty-four hours had been less than kind, Sam whispered a soft apology to you, “I’m so sorry.”

Then he let himself fall asleep.

-

Sam woke up early the next morning, starving, so he took the box of Power Bars off the dresser, and ate one in his bed while sitting up against the wall and watching you sleep again. After he got up to get one of the bottles of water you offered him the night before, he gently ran his fingers through your hair, tucking a stray piece behind your ear. When you stirred in your bed, Sam pulled his hand back, walked over to the kitchenette table, and pulled out his laptop.

An hour later, you woke up.

“Saved you a couple Power Bars,” Sam told you without looking up from whatever he was looking at on his laptop.

“Thanks,” you answered with a little smile, which Sam didn’t return. “Gonna go shower.”

Sam nodded his head just once.

When you got out of the shower, Sam was dressed in a Fed suit and tie, shrugging on a black jacket.

“I ordered you some food, it should be here in a sec. I’m gonna go check out a lead.”

“A lead? On Dean?”

There was a knock at the door. Sam opened it, paid the delivery guy, and set two paper bags on the table.

“Don’t leave this room, and fix the salt after I leave.”

“Sam, I can help…”

He let out a heavy sigh and closed his eyes. “Weather patterns. Google around and see if you find anything… _unusual_. I’ll be back later.”

Back when Sam showed you the ropes when it came to research, he told you that demons could mess with the weather, like freak lightning storms and fluxes or drops in temperature. “Demons?”

“Yes,” Sam snapped impatiently, clearly wanting to get on the road. “I’ll be back later…probably late or maybe in the morning, I don’t know. Fix the salt and don’t --”

“Don’t leave the room. Yeah, I got it,” you tried to keep the annoyance out of your voice, but it came right through.

“Look, I’m sor --”

“If you didn’t want me with you,” you interrupted Sam, “Then why did you come back for me?”

It was quiet for a minute, and Sam knew you were waiting for an answer, but he didn’t have one to give. How could he find the words to tell you that he needed to put _all_ of his focus into finding Dean, that _Dean_ needed to be his top priority, and he couldn’t take attention away from his mission? How could he tell you all those things about his focus, his priorities, and his mission and then turn around and tell you that he wanted you there with him because he just needed _something_ good, something he could just _trust_ to _be there_? Sam knew that in all of his focus and determination, he was pushing you away, snapping at you, and barking orders, but behind all those slammed doors, short words, and hours of silence, he was reaching out to you – clinging to the _one good thing_ amongst everything else in his world that seemed to be crumbling into nothing all around him. How could Sam put _all that_ into words? He couldn’t, and he was too exhausted to even try.

When Sam didn’t answer you, and when you couldn’t see through the walls you _thought_ Sam was building around himself to keep you out, you started again. “I know I’m not a hunter, and I know practically _nothing_ compared to you, but I’m not stupid. I also know this probably isn’t the safest place for me to be, so I won’t leave, I’ll salt the damn door, and, yeah, I’ll Google the weather patterns, but you know you already did that, which is where you got the lead.”

You were exactly right; Sam was busted, and he pursed his lips and looked away. 

“If you don’t want me here, put my ass in a cab and send me back to the bunker, but don’t --”

Sam’s head snapped up, and he looked at you. “Is that what you want?”

“No, that’s _not what I want_ ; I’m asking you if that’s what _you want._ I offered to be here with you; I _want_ to be here with you, to help you with whatever you need, but don’t drag me three states over and lock in me in a motel room while you put your ass on the line and keep me in the dark.”

Like so much of the trip, you and Sam stood in the motel room in silence. Not being able to stand it a minute more and feeling like shit for snapping at him when you knew full well he was grieving and doing the best he could, you walked over to Sam’s side and reached for his hand.

“I know _this_ is hard, and I’m sorry I snapped. And to answer your question: _no_ ,I don’t want to go back to the bunker; I want to be here…with you – to _help_ you, but I can’t do that if you won’t _let me_ help you. I get it if you don’t want me out there with you, but I can help _in here,_ behind the safety of a salt line. Do you think you can just _try_ talking to me?”

Sam nodded his head and ran his thumb over the knuckles of your hands. “Did you bring any clothes that…anything a Fed would wear?”

You looked up at Sam, shocked that he even considered bringing you with him, but since you didn’t bring any clothing beyond the style of casual, you shook your head. “T-shirts and jeans; no Fed clothes.”

“Okay. I’ll be back later.”

“I’ll stay inside. I’ll salt the door, and I’ll look up the weather. Just…Just be safe, okay?”

Sam gently squeezed your hand before taking his away, and then he left.

After you fixed the salt line in front of the door, you Googled the weather, cross-referenced any locations with unusual weather with areas that had any sort of flux in violent crimes or missing persons, then printed off your findings with the printer Sam packed. Once your piles were neat and stacked on the little kitchenette table, you picked at the food Sam bought, put the leftovers in the mini-fridge. When midnight came without Sam, you double checked the salt lines, then laid back on your bed and went to sleep.

-

Days later, after more of Sam being glued to his laptop, lost in newspapers and your print-outs, you watched him take a drink of his coffee, over the top of your laptop, and then make a face at the taste. He looked up at you for the first time in days, without a prompting from you, and actually met your eyes.

“You wanna go get some coffee?”

“Yeah, sure.” You gave him a little smile and stood up from your chair to step into your shoes.

Sam pulled out his wallet and handed you some cash. “There’s a gas station just across the alley.”

“You’re not coming with?”

“Nah. You’ve been in here for days.” He gave you a flask of holy water and his gun. “Just grab some coffee and whatever looks good to eat, then come right back, okay?”

“Are you sure?” You held Sam’s gun in one hand and the flask in the other, suddenly nervous about leaving the motel room.

“Want me to come with you?”

You knew Sam wouldn’t have suggested you go on the coffee run if he didn’t know for sure it was safe.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll be right back.”

After tucking Sam’s gun in the back of your jeans like you’d watched him do so many times, you pulled on your jacket and put the holy water and cash in your jacket pocket. Sam gave you a half-smile and went back to looking at his laptop, and you walked out of the room.

After getting two large cups of coffee, a few bottles of water, another box of Power Bars, cheese sticks, fruit, sandwiches, and a box of crackers – which was way more food than you needed, but Sam _needed_ to eat – you paid for your stuff and made your way back to the motel room. As you walked back across the alley, you saw Sam loading bags into the backseat of his car.

“We’re leaving?”

“Yup. I got all your stuff. Got a lead.”

Forcing yourself to not ask any questions, you got in the passenger seat, Sam got in the driver’s seat, and the two of you hit the road.

Once out of town, you passed Sam his coffee and a couple cheese sticks.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome.”

And that’s all that was said for three hours.

-

Sam drove up and down highways and back roads until dark, when finally, he pulled over to the side of the road at a four-way stop.

“I need you to stay in the car, no matter what.” Sam’s tone had changed. It wasn’t angry or short like before, it was desperate.

“Okay.”

“Don’t get out, _no matter_ what you see.”

“I won’t.”

After Sam got out of the car, he went around back to the truck. You could hear him dig around, then slam the trunk closed, and he walked to the center of the four-way stop with a little box.

Having spent _months_ of time in the bunker’s library, you read dozens upon dozens of books, and as soon as Sam dug a hole in the center of the road, you realized what he was doing. Sam parked the car at a _crossroad_ , and he was summoning a Crossroad demon.

You jumped out of the car. “Sam! No!”

“Get back in the car!” He barked at you. “NOW!”

Petrified, you stared at Sam for a minute, then got back in the car, slamming the door behind you. Through the windshield, you shook with fear, watching Sam’s lips as he spoke a few words, but nothing ever happened. Sam said the words again, waited, and when nothing still happened, he dug up the little box, and came back to the car.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered while looking down at your shaking hands.

Sam specifically asked you to stay in the car, _no matter what_ , and you didn’t listen. It was in that moment that you realized Sam wasn’t building walls around himself to keep you out, he was building walls around _you_ to keep you safe while he put everything thing he had into finding Dean.

“It’s okay,” he answered back softly and reached over to put his hand over the top of yours. He left it there, warm and heavy, until your hands stopped shaking, then he took his hand away.

Not another word was spoken until the two of you were at a motel the next evening, where Sam explained his plan. He told you that the Crossroad demon didn’t come when he summoned it, but he thought if he had _someone_ _else_ summon it, the demon would come. You asked why Sam wanted to summon the demon in the first place, and he assured you that it was _just_ to get information. After a few minutes of silence and a heavy breath, you offered to do it, claiming that the demon wouldn’t know who you were, but Sam made it _very_ clear that wasn’t going to happen.

That night, in a bar, you found Lester. Sam went through his well-rehearsed speech about how Lester could have pretty much anything he wanted, and Lester played right into it. Once the three of you found a crossroad, Sam gave Lester a piece of paper, told him to read it, then Sam led you over to a ditch where the two of you got out of sight.

Lester didn’t follow _one_ of Sam’s directions, and he didn’t wait for Sam’s signal. You held your breath when Lester kissed the red-eyed demon, and you knew it was over. What happened _wasn’t_ the plan. Still, Sam, in a harsh voice with his eyes wide and almost unrecognizable, told you to bring Lester home, and go back to the motel. In shock of what had happened, combined with seeing Sam drag an actual demon off into the woods, you dumbly nodded at his instruction and did just what he asked: with Lester’s car, you brought him home, and then walked the ten blocks back to the motel room.

Once inside the room, you held yourself together as long as you could. You tried to tell yourself that you _knew_ Sam; you _trusted_ Sam, but the guilt of putting Lester into a situation of selling his soul and knowing _exactly_ where he would be for the rest of forever, was just too much for you. You dug in Sam’s bag, found his bottle of whiskey, and drank straight from the bottle until Sam came back.

Hours later, when Sam finally made it back to the motel, his shirt was covered in blood, his hair was sweaty, and his eyes were wild. He started to pull off his bloody shirts, but when he saw you curled up on your bed, knees to chest, taking pulls straight from the bottle, Sam’s face went a little soft.

“Are you alright?”

“Did you find out anything about Dean?”

“No.”

“Then, no, I’m not alright. Sam, we found some miserable bastard, and we _used_ him… He’s going to _Hell_ because of US!”

Sam walked over to your bed and sat beside you. “No, _you_ didn’t do anything; _this_ was all me.”

You shook your head. “No, I did just as much as --”

“The only thing _you did_ was trust me,” Sam interrupted in a soft voice. “This is _not_ your fault, it’s _mine_.” He tried to put his arm around you, but you jumped up off the bed, grabbed your bag, and stalked off toward the bathroom.

Just before you went inside the bathroom, you turned and looked at Sam. “You should have let _me_ do it!”

The instant you slammed the door behind you, was the first time Sam knew he should have _never_ brought you with him. He also knew he should have taken your advice: he should have put your ass in a cab and sent you back to the bunker first thing the next morning.

He didn’t.

-

You woke up when Sam walked into the motel room the next morning with coffee, breakfast, a bottle of aspirin, and a huge shopping bag. He brought everything over to your bed and sat down next you.

In a tone of voice you hadn’t heard in more time than you cared to keep track of, a voice that was soft and kind, Sam asked, “Does your head hurt?”

“Yeah,” you answered while sitting up in your bed a little bit.

Sam shook out a couple aspirin from the bottle, handed them to you, and gave you your coffee. “You hungry?” When you nodded your head, he handed you a breakfast sandwich.

“Thanks.”

“After we eat, we have to load up the truck and head to Ohio.”

“The _truck_?”

“Yup.”

You didn’t ask why the change, you just figured Sam knew what he was doing, and that it had something to do with being undercover. The two of you sat in silence and ate your breakfast.

After Sam gathered the wrappers from your breakfast sandwiches and tossed them into the trashcan, he pulled the shopping bag up from the floor and handed it to you. “I got you something.”

Starting to feel like something resembling human after breakfast, coffee, and aspirin, you gave Sam a small smile and looked in the bag. Inside there was a pair of black dress shoes, a charcoal-gray dress, and a black trench coat. You looked up at Sam with curious eyes.

“Oh, and there’s this too.” He pulled a folded leather case out of his pocket and handed it to you. When you opened it, you saw a FBI badge and ID card: Agent Sarah Williams – the main character from your favorite movie, _Labyrinth_. “Once we get to Ohio, I have to head to the sheriff’s station to look at some surveillance. If you want to come with me, now you can.”

“Wow,” you whispered, a little shocked, but smiled up at him. “Thanks, Sam.”

“I looked at the clothes in your bag for a size, but girls’ sizes make absolutely no sense. The lady at the store helped me, so I hope everything fits.”

You pulled your feet out from under the covers and slipped on the shoes. “Perfect.”

“And the dress?”

You looked at the tags on the dress and the jacket. “Yeah, they should fit. Thanks again.”

Sam nodded his head and actually gave you something similar to a smile. “Check out’s in twenty-minutes, we should get packed up. It’ll take us the rest of the day and night to get to Ohio.”

-

Sam pulled up to a motel in that tiny town of Ohio early the next morning. That time, he waited for you to get out of the truck, walked with you to pay for the room, and grabbed the bags out of the back before you could even touch them. Once the two of you were inside the motel room, and the door and windows were salted, you changed into your new clothes in the bathroom, while Sam changed in the main room. When you came out with your hair done and a light touch of make-up, Sam looked at you for a couple seconds longer than he needed to. He gave you a tiny smile, but then looked back down at his feet to pull on his boots. Once his jacket was on, he walked over to the door and held it open for you.

As the two of you walked to the orange Ford truck, Sam asked, “Got your badge?”

You nodded your head.

“Nervous?”

“A little.”

“It’ll be fine.” Sam moved so he could walk closer to you and gently pressed his hand into the middle of your back. “We just have to look at a couple surveillance tapes, and then we can go. Just show them the badge when I introduce us; you won’t have to say anything.”

“How many laws are we breaking?”

Sam actually grinned. “Federal or State?” 

You rolled your eyes and laughed at him for the first time in weeks.

-

The sheriff’s department was just a few minutes away from the motel. Just like Sam told you to, when he made both his and your introductions, you flashed your fake badge right alongside him, and you were both ushered to the back, just like that.

The sheriff showed you and Sam the footage Sam asked for, and you held back a gasp at seeing Dean alive on the little computer monitor. At first glance, you didn’t see anything odd – other than Dean alive and kicking some guy’s ass – but the look on Sam’s face told you that he most certainly did. Sam asked for a minute to review the footage, the sheriff obliged and left the two of you alone in the room.

You stood silently behind Sam while he sat at a desk and went through the surveillance, frame by frame. When Sam stopped the video on the exact moment that Dean’s eyes flicked black, you couldn’t hold back your gasp, and you grabbed onto Sam’s shoulder.

“Sam?”

He didn’t answer you. He just led you out of the sheriff’s station with his hand on your back, but it wasn’t gentle like before, that time he was practically pushing you through the exit doors. Sam stayed close to you, his eyes darting up and down the road and around the parking lot. He walked you to the driver’s side of the truck and made you get inside through his door. Once he slid onto the seat next to you, he gripped the steering wheel tightly and tried to steady his breathing.

“But the tattoo… Dean said… How?”

“I don’t know,” was all Sam offered you, then he drove to the gas station where the surveillance footage came from. When he put the truck in park, he handed you a flask of holy water and an angel blade and said, “Stay in the truck…please.”

You nodded your head and watched Sam go inside the gas station.

Just a minute later, Sam came back with a phone, and while standing outside the truck, he made a call. Sam growled and barked his words into the phone, but the traffic driving by on the highway made it impossible for you to hear what Sam or the other person was saying.

You didn’t know that Sam was on the phone with Crowley, The King of Hell. Neither Sam, nor Crowley knew that Dean overheard their conversation while he was playing darts, and Dean took that opportunity to haul ass to Ohio.

It was the middle of the night when Dean parked the Impala across the street from the motel and jogged across the highway. He stood in the shadows and looked with his black eyes through sliver of window not covered by curtain, where he watched his brother toss and turn in his bed from a nightmare. Dean was surprised when he saw you get up from your bed and creep over to Sam, rubbing his shoulder softly to wake him up. Dean was absolutely shocked that Sam even _considered_ bringing you along with him.

“Sam, it’s okay. You’re just having a nightmare,” Dean heard you whisper quietly.

“_______?” Sam murmured your name, still half-asleep.

“Yeah, it’s me. Just go back to sleep.”

Sam wiped his face and looked up at you. “I’m sorry.”

“For what? You didn’t do anything.”

Dean was even more surprised when Sam flipped open the blankets and invited you into his bed. With a wide grin on his face, Dean watched Sam kiss you after you slid under the sheets and into his arms.

-

Keeping tabs on his brother, Dean followed the two of you to Montana. Again, he watched Sam lay in bed with you sleeping in his arms, running his fingers through your hair.

“Hi,” you whispered up at Sam when you woke up.

“Hey.”

“Everything alri --”

Sam cut you off by rolling on top of you and kissing you. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

With eyes darker than the night sky, Dean watched through a smudgy glass window while various pieces of clothing were flung around the motel room.

“I don’t mean to,” Sam groaned.

“I know.”

“I just need…”

“Whatever you need, I’m right here.”

Standing outside the motel room, Dean’s black eyes shined in the dark, and a sinister grin worked itself onto his face while he watched you ride Sam like a fucking stallion. It was then that Dean concocted a plan, and he knew _exactly_ how to get his little brother off of his ass.

Leaving false leads and fake clues that Dean knew only Sam would find, Dean led both of you to a shack in the woods. He let you and Sam stay there for a couple nights, surrounded in salt and Devil’s traps, just to make the two of you feel like you were safe and close to finding him, but Dean did one better.

Dean had a plan.

On the third night, he busted down the door, breaking the salt line and Devil’s trap, and he knocked Sam out first, then you. While the two of you were unconscious, he strung both you and Sam up with rope around your wrists, from the highest rafters in the shack, so the toes of your sneakers and the tips of Sam’s boots barely touched the ground.

While you were out, Dean ran his fingers possessively over your face, waist, and hips, but quickly took his hands away when Sam groaned as he came to. _That_ would have to wait.

Dean’s plan worked exactly like he wanted it to. Sam _would_ let him go one way or another, and that night in the shack was _just_ a warning.

-

“Are you scared?” Were the first words you heard in Dean’s whiskey-rough voice when you came to, strung up by your wrists.

“Sh-should I be?” You asked a black-eyed Dean when you could finally find your voice.

With his dark chuckle in your ears, Dean popped off the buttons of your shirt with the tip of The First Blade. Carefully, his rough and calloused fingers traced your cheek bones, and he leaned in to whisper, “I could never hurt this face, unless you ask me to.”

Dean’s breath was hot on your skin, and you could smell the spice of his deodorant and the tangy of his sweat. In that moment, you weren’t scared, you were _petrified_ , and after Dean was _finished_ with you, it took a long time for _that smell_ to wash off.

-

When Sam came to, his arms were tied above his head, and his wrists were twisted in such a way that he knew he wouldn’t be able to get free, but that didn’t mean he _ever_ stopped trying. When he looked over and saw you in the _very_ same position, with Dean’s hands covetously touching every inch of your skin and peeling off your clothes, Sam knew, for the second time, he should have _never_ brought you with him. He also knew he should have taken your advice: he _should_ have put your ass in a cab and sent you back to the bunker that very first morning.

He didn’t, and in that moment, Sam knew he’d made a horrible mistake.

*//*

In the bunker, in his own bed, Dean wakes up out of a dead sleep, and he’s sweating and shaking, but it’s not from a dream. Call it hunter’s intuition, call it whatever the fuck you want, Dean knows some bad shit is going to happen; he just doesn’t know what. The feeling is deep; it’s in his guts, in his bones, and he just _knows_.

Like it knows too, like it’s _taunting_ him, The Mark on the inside of Dean’s arm burns. It’s dark in his room, so he can’t see it, but he doesn’t dare turn on his lamp because he doesn’t _want_ to see it. The Mark might not actually be glowing red-hot, but it feels like it’s ablaze on his skin, searing into his soul, and trying to turn everything inside him black.

All the normal, all the good that’s come about in the last little while, Dean knows it’s been going on for way too long, and it _always_ comes with a price. There’s always a cost, and he knows _he’s_ going to pay.

He just _knows_.

-

Also in his own bed, Sam wakes up at five o’clock, just like he always does, and you’re asleep, curled up next to him, with your head on his chest. Usually, Sam gets up this early so he can go for a run, but it’s now 5:10, and he has no desire to leave his bed. He just runs his fingertips up and down your naked back.

“Feels good,” you murmur into his chest.

Sam chuckles. “You’re not even awake.”

“So?” You nuzzle up into his neck and sleepily laugh. “Still feels good.”

“I _was_ gonna get up and go for a run.”

“M’kay, just don’t take my pillow.”

“Right now, _I’m_ your pillow.”

“Then I don’t know what to tell you.” You smirk and give him an open-mouthed kiss on the skin below his ear.

Sam groans from your kiss as he slides out from under you and plants a kiss of his own on the side of your face. “You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“My pillow’s gone,” you playfully whine into the sheets.

“It’ll be back in an hour or so, okay?” He chuckles some more when you nod sleepily, and he kisses you again.

Completely naked, Sam gets up from his bed, walks over to his dresser, and you roll over on your side, wrapped up in a sheet, to watch him as he gets dressed. Once the boxer-briefs, black track pants, socks, running shoes, and many layers of shirts are all covering Sam, he looks over his shoulder and catches you watching him. He smirks. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“Just enjoying the view.” You answer him with a grin.

He shakes his head, but his smirk stays. “I’ll be back soon.”

-

Dean’s sitting at the table, eating a donut, drinking coffee, and pouring over a newspaper when Sam jogs down the stairs, sweaty and energized from his run. Dean smells his brother before he sees him and makes a face.

“Dude, you reek.”

Sam rolls his eyes and pulls a bottle of Gatorade out of the pocket of his hoodie, then sits down in a chair. “Anything in the papers?”

“Might be something in Durham, Washington. Ass load of bodies have – and I quote – ‘folks torn clean through. Hearts absent.’”

“ _Absent_?”

“Absent.”

Sam makes his classic ‘sturgeon face.’ “Werewolf?”

“That’s my thought. Tapped into the Durham PD’s scanner, and a local farmer’s been bitchin’ about ‘something snackin’ on his chickens.’”

“Did you call Ray and Louie?”

“They’re in up in Black Duck, Minnesota, tryin’ to flame-throw a Wendigo, extra-crispy, but I’ll find someone else to check out Durham.”

“Sounds good. You want me to make some calls?”

“No. God, Sam, go shower. Wreckin’ my donut.”

Sam smirks and shakes his head. “Has _______ been up yet?”

“Nope, Sleeping Beauty hasn’t woken from her slumber.”

Sam laughs under his breath at what seems like is yet _another_ nickname for you, and makes his way out of the room.

-

Dean watches Sam leave, thankful when the smell of sweat and ‘locker room’ leave with him, and he gets back to his coffee. Okay, that’s a lie, there isn’t coffee in Dean’s cup, it’s bourbon. Bourbon with a side of donut – it’s _that_ kind of day, and it has been since he woke up. Dean doesn’t know what’s going to happen, but it’s not going to be good. He can _feel_ it.

Ray and Louie are in Minnesota, another group of other hunters are in Tulsa, another in Boise, and another in Atlanta. Dean can’t get a hold of anybody to take the possible werewolf case in Washington, and he knows it can’t just be left.

Someone’s got to take the case.

Dean’s still got that bad feeling from when he woke up in the middle of the night. The Mark still burns, the sick feeling is back, and it gnaws and gnashes like it never left. He always knew this would happen. No matter how many nights he and Sam – even you – spent nose deep in the rarest volumes of the Letters’ collection, there was still no cure, remedy, or way to remove The Mark in sight, and Dean always knew he couldn’t hole himself away until one was found.

Someone’s got to take the case.

 _This_ is the other shoe, and Dean can feel – no, he _knows_ it’s about to drop.

Something bad is coming.

Something bad _always_ comes.

-

As quietly as he can, Sam walks into his bedroom and toes off his running shoes, peels off his socks and his sweaty sweatshirt and tee shirt, then grabs for the pile of clean clothes sitting on top of his dresser. While Sam does this, you’re fast asleep in his bed, and before he goes to shower, he just takes a minute to watch you sleep.

Still without a pillow, you’re lying on your side with your back toward Sam, and one of your arms is tucked under your head. With you wrapped only in his sheet, Sam’s eyes visually follow the lines of the stark-white cotton that covers your front, but shows all of your back, giving him a teasing glimpse of the cleft of your ass.

Postponing his shower just a little bit longer, Sam puts his clean clothes back where they were and carefully climbs up onto his bed. When you don’t move, he uses the backs of his fingers to lightly trace the curve of your rib cage, the slope of your waist, and up the smooth skin of your hip, then he moves his fingers over to the small of your back. He smiles when you arch your back into his touch, and he leans forward to press a kiss into the base of your spine. You sleepily moan.

“Hey,” Sam whispers as he kisses a path up to your shoulder and to the back of your neck.

Rolling over to face Sam, you smile up at him. “Hi.” After rubbing your eyes, you try to look at the clock, but Sam’s in the way. “What time is --”

Sam cuts you off with a kiss. “Early. I just got back.” His kisses move down your jaw and neck, down to your sheet-covered chest. “Need to take a shower.”

You giggle softly. “I can _smell_ that.”

“I thought you _liked_ the way I smell?” Sam teases while dragging the sheet down your chest with his chin and planting more kisses.

“I _do_ , but…” You let your words trail off when Sam drags his teeth over one of your nipples.

“ _But_ what?” Sam asks between the kisses he places on your ribs and stomach.

“’Just-got-back-from-a-run-Sam’ smellsgood, but not as _as good_ as ‘just-got-out-of-the-shower-Sam.’”

He chuckles into your skin and moves the sheet completely to the side. “Is that so?”

“Mmm hmm.”

Sam grins while nudging your legs apart. “And what does ‘just-got-out-of-the-shower-Sam’ smell like?”

You groan when he nips and kisses at the insides of your thighs. “‘Just-got-out-of-the-shower’ Sam… Mmm. Your soap, it smells clean, and your aftershave and deodorant, it’s warm and musky…and _safe_.”

Hearing you describe him as _smelling safe_ , does something to Sam; it still blows his mind how much faith and trust you have in him. The feelings are almost overwhelming, and he has to stop his kisses and nibbles on the insides of your thighs to look up at you. _How can a person smell safe?_

“What?” You ask with a puzzled smile on your face. “Why are you looking at me like --”

Before you can finish your question, Sam stretches up your body and kisses you, whispering between his kisses, “God, I love you.” You try to say it back, but Sam’s hungry kisses keep your lips busy, and your words only come out as a garbled moan. Sam chuckles; he knows what you mean.

Sam’s long body is deliciously heavy on top of yours, pressed into you warm and firm. Holding himself up on one strong arm, he uses his other to pull you even closer to him, still urgently kissing at your lips, and licking at your tongue, taking your breath away. Then, before your mouth can catch up with his, Sam kisses his way back down your body, quickly but still gracefully, and finds his previous place between your legs. Before you even know what’s happening, Sam licks a flat line up your slit, and before you have time to moan at the sensation, he carefully parts your lips with his thumbs so his tongue can swirl around your clit. You gasp, and Sam takes his mouth away to look up at you again. 

Trying to catch your breath from Sam’s eager kisses and the brief but breath-taking attention between your legs, you watch, dizzy from lack of oxygen, as he sucks his pointer and middle finger into his mouth. After Sam’s tongue and mouth work over his own fingers, he pulls them out, slick and shiny with his spit. Keeping his dark eyes locked on yours, he eases them inside of you, groaning when your eyes flutter closed, and your inner walls clench around his finger. When he bends his knuckles slightly, so he can rub at your g-spot, Sam brings his mouth back between your legs and licks a few more times, just enough to let you know what will come after his shower, then he pulls away. He smirks playfully when you whimper and kisses up your middle back up to your neck and jaw.

“I’ll be back in ten minutes,” he groans in your ear.

“Five,” you whine your counter offer.

“I don’t know if I can get ‘just-got-out-of-the-shower-Sam’ in five minutes,” he teases while the same smirk stays on his face. However, when your hand reaches down into his track pants and grips Sam’s half-hard cock, the smirk falls away, and his mouth drops open when he lets out a deep groan.

“No?” You ask innocently while grinning up at him and moving your fist up and down his shaft in the confines of his hot and sweaty boxer-briefs. “You could just skip the shower for right now, and _after_ , I can take one with you.”

Sam groans again. “I can smell myself, and _I_ don’t think ‘just-got-back-from-a-run-Sam’ smells so great. Five minutes.”

Giving his now-fully-hard cock one last pump, you sigh, then pull your hand back. “Fiiine.”

Tossing you another smirk, Sam gets up from his bed, adjusts himself, and grabs the stack of clothes off his dresser. “Five minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you playfully groan and roll over on Sam’s bed, burying yourself in the sheets.

-

Three minutes later, Sam’s out of the shower and toweling himself off. He quickly brushes his teeth, runs a comb through his hair, and grabs the first deodorant he touches from the Ziplock bag on the counter top. While Sam quickly rubs the deodorant under his arms, he takes a second to laugh to himself at the multitude of his musky deodorants and aftershaves, and Dean’s spicy deodorants and colognes, you’ve collected over the months you’ve stayed at the bunker. Once he’s done, Sam tosses the stick of deodorant back into the bag, pulls on his jeans, and yanks a tee shirt over his head.

One minute shy of his five-minute-promise, Sam’s in his bedroom, grinning at you spread out on his bed covered in with his sheet, pretending to be asleep. After his shirt and jeans are just a pile on the floor, Sam lifts up the sheet and climbs under it, finding his former place between your legs.

“You made it,” he hears you whisper breathily as he licks you open and rubs the insides of your thighs.

When Sam looks up at you, you’re peeking down under the sheet at him, and he grins. “I told you, _five minutes._ ”

You smirk at him, let the sheet drop, then Sam and his mouth get back to work.

With his tongue soft, he laps at your sensitive skin, groaning at the soft sounds you make. By now, because of what he did five minutes ago, combined waiting for him while he showered, and what he’s doing with his mouth, you’re soaking wet, and Sam eases a couple fingers back inside you. You rock up off the bed, moving yourself against Sam’s mouth, and within just a few minutes you’re coming on Sam’s fingers and mouth.

Kissing up your middle, Sam peeks his head up from the sheets to find you breathing heavily with your mouth open and your eyes closed. When he steals your mouth, you reach down between Sam’s legs, give him a couple strokes to spread his slickness up and down his length.

“You doin’ alright?” He groans at your touch and places burning kisses into your skin.

You roll your eyes up and smirk up at Sam. “I _told_ you, you don’t have to ask me that; _everything_ you do is alright.”

“I know,” Sam answers in a gravelly voice. “I just want to make sure you’re good.”

“I’m good,” you assure him and lift your legs up on his hips.

Carefully, Sam eases himself inside you, and both of you moan when his hips are flush with yours. After a couple of gentle thrusts, Sam slides his arms around your back to pull you up onto his thighs, but when he gets his arms around you, he instantly stops. Right before his eyes, Sam’s sees your cheeks turn pale, and he can feel you begin to shake.

“That smell,” he hears you whisper, and when he starts to ask you what you mean by _that smell_ , you’re pushing him away. “Sam, stop! Please, you have to stop!” Of course Sam does, but it’s not quick enough, and you scream, “NO! STOP!”

Sam quickly covers you with his sheet and reaches down to the floor for his jeans. He pulls them on and goes back to you.

“It’s okay, ______,” he reaches out to touch you, but you fly up off his bed and throw yourself in the corner between his dresser and the wall.

In shock, and not understanding what just happened, Sam just sits on his bed and watches you shake and try to bury yourself in the sheet that is the exact same bleach-white color as your face. Once he comes back to himself, moving very slowly, Sam stands up from his bed to go over to you, but you stare at him with wide eyes while shaking your head and whispering over and over again, “No, no, no, no, no…

“Hey, ______.” Sam keeps his voice soft. “It’s okay. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.” He takes another step closer and crouches down to sit on the floor near you, and you bury your head in your knees and start to sob. Wanting to do anything to help you, Sam gently touches your leg, and you scream through your tears.

“NO! STOP! DON’T TOUCH ME!”

*//*

Not being able to stand the silence of the bunker, Dean makes his way to his bedroom for his jacket and the keys to the Impala. He’s out of bourbon.

As soon as he steps out of his room and back into the hallway, he hears you scream, “NO! STOP!”

The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck and on his arms stand straight on end. The Mark burns hotter than fire on his arm, and he feels sick.

“NO! STOP! DON’T TOUCH ME!”

That scream – _your_ scream – has plagued Dean’s nightmares for months now, and he hates how he’d recognize it anywhere. Pushing down the overwhelming need to gag, Dean sprints down the hallway to Sam’s bedroom and throws open the door. Immediately, he smells sweat and sex and a nauseatingly-familiar spicy smell, and just as bile tries to force its way up his throat, his eyes land on you huddled in the corner rocking back and forth, sobbing.

Dean’s eyes are wide as he stands in Sam’s doorway. _No_ , _no, no, NO!_ He begs silently to no one in particular. _Things were good; things were normal!______ was good!_ And then he remembers his thoughts from earlier.

_Something bad is coming._

_Something bad always comes._

His eyes meet yours, your eyes meet his, and for a second, everything goes still. You stop sobbing, you stop moving, you stop breathing, you just stare up at Dean, and the only thing he can see in your eyes is terror. He’s seen that same terror before, _that night._

Then the stillness goes away.

At the sight of Dean, you’re scrambling in your corner, wailing and trying to get away from Sam, trying to get away from Dean, just plain trying to get away, but there’s no more room in your corner. No matter what you do, _that smell_ won’t go away: it’s spicy, it’s sweaty, it smells like _that night_ , and it won’t go away.

It’s _that_ smell. 

 _I need Sam!_ You scream in your mind. _Sam will keep me safe. Sam won’t let anything thing bad happen to me. Sam won’t let **him** hurt me. Need Sam. Sam, Sam, SamSamsamsamsam…_“Sam!” 

“I’m right here,” Sam answers and moves closer to you, feeling more helpless than he’s probably ever felt in his life. 

Getting a fresh whiff of _that smell_ , you jerk away from Sam. “NO!” You don’t even feel the pain in your elbow when it smacks into the hard bunker wall, but both Sam and Dean _hear_ it – bone on concrete – and neither of them can move.

 _I shouldn’t have been there. Shouldn’t have, shouldn’t, shouldn’t. Don’t belong. Not a hunter. Don’t belong. Shouldn’t, shouldn’t, shouldn’t have,_ you tell yourself over and over again while rocking yourself back and forth wailing into the sheet you’re wrapped in so tightly. _If I wouldn’t have gone, Dean couldn’t have hurt me, broke me, used be up, and then they wouldn’t blame themselves, and I wouldn’t be broken. Broken. Used. Shouldn’t have gone. Why did I go?_ You don’t even realize that the panicked thoughts inside your head change into real words. “I shouldn’t have gone – shouldn’t have. I’m _not_ a hunter. I don’t belong. Why did I go? I shouldn’t have gone. Shouldn’t. Why did I go? I shouldn’t have been there. Don’t belong. Never belonged. Shouldn’t have been there… It hurts.”

Both Sam and Dean stay frozen in their places as they watch you babble, shake, and fall apart right in front of their eyes. They’ve both looked Lucifer square in the eyes, both faced and fought Hell, both gone up against a multitude of monster, demons, and things that only their worst nightmares could ever come up with, but seeing you sob and shake, petrified of everything – of _them_ – neither of them can move.

Dean just saw that you won’t let Sam anywhere near you, and he _knows_ for a fact you would claw your way through the cement wall to get away from him if you could – they have no idea what to do. They can’t just _leave_ you, and as both Sam and Dean’s minds race to think of something to do to help you, all they can do is listen to the multitudes of repetitive, ‘ _I shouldn’t have gone_ ’s and ‘ _why did I go_ ’s and ‘ _I’m not a hunter_ ’s, falling from your mouth between sobs and hiccups.

Still repeating yourself, like you’re on auto-pilot, all you can think about is the ropes that were wrapped around your wrists, Dean’s black eyes glittering as they looked at you, the tip of The First Blade snipping the buttons off of your shirt, making slices into your skin, and cutting the straps of your bra. _The smell_ makes flashes play in your mind’s eye, and there’s nothing you can do.

_Oh, but I am, sweetheart. Gonna fuck you raw, and you'll love it, I promise._

You can _smell_ that night, and you know you shouldn’t have been there.

_I just want one little taste, sweetheart. You don't fight, you don't get hurt... _much_. And after, you and Sammy can go. Unless you're a slut for my cock, then maybe I'll let you stay with me?_

“I shouldn’t have been there.”

 _There's a good girl. I'll make it good, don't you worry; I'll make you_   _scream_ _._

“I’m not a hunter. I don’t belong. Never belonged. Never, never, never.”

And for the life of you, you can’t think why you were even there in the first place.

 _Oh, honey, I'm going to fuck your pussy twelve ways from Sunday either way, but it's all up to you how messy it gets. You take my cock like a good girl, and I'll let you go, but if you don't, I'll_   _make_   _you take it, and I guarantee it'll end bloody for both you and Sam. So what's it gonna be?_

“Why did I go? Shouldn’t have. Wasn’t safe. Why did I go?”

 _See, I could beat the shit outta Sammy. I could string him up and beat him bloody and break his bones, but that'll never hurt him as much as what I could do to you._   _ **Another**_   ** _person_** _getting hurt on account of Sam Winchester?_   _ **Another**_ _ **girl**_   _terrorized because of him? Now _that's_  my baby brother's weak spot. And you know what the thing is? I could beat Sam within an inch of his life, and he'd take it, because he thinks he deserves it. And where the fuck is the fun in that? You, little girl,_  _you_   _don't deserve this at all, and that's what makes this_   _fun_ _._

 _See, you two think you've been hot on my trail, and you were, but I did one better. I've been watching you this whole time. Hurting you is the best way to hurt Sammy, ‘cause_ _he loves you._

“SAM!”

 _Sam. Need Sam. Sam will keep me safe._  

“I’m right here, _______.” Sam doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, and he knows better to try to touch you, so he just moves so he can try to look at you in the eyes. “It’s okay. You’re safe. No one’s gonna --”

“Sam, I shouldn’t have gone. It wasn’t safe. I shouldn’t have gone.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry, but you’re safe now, there’s nothing here to --”

“I shouldn’t have been there; I don’t belong.”

“Yes, you do, ______, you _do_ belong; you belong here with me. I love you.”

It’s as if those three little words make everything go silent, and one final question echoes in your mind. You’ve never wondered the question before, and you’ve never blamed Sam for anything that happened, but since you’re not able to answer any of your own questions, just like you have since the beginning, you look to Sam for help.

“Why did you bring me with you?”

Sam’s chest is rising and falling with the rapid breaths he’s pulling in, but as your question registers in his mind, his chest goes still. He has no idea what to say, how to apologize, or how to explain to you that he needed you, that you kept him sane and human, that you took care of him, and that it was you who was the good amongst all the bad… _but at what cost_?

Even though Sam knew he should have sent you back to the bunker, just like you told him to, he tried to keep you safe; he _promised_ himself that he would keep you safe, but he failed – the ropes were just too strong. Familiar words scream in Sam’s mind, and just like you, he can’t make them stop.

 _You shoulda been able to get out of those ropes! You shoulda saved her from the Big Bad Wolf, but you’re weak, Sammy! You’re weak, and this is all your fault! And even if she does get passed this, even if she isn’t broken, and she’s as strong as you say she is, she’s always gonna look at you, and remember_   _ **me**_ _. And you know what? She’ll always blame **you**._

 _How can you even look at her? Knowing how broken she is, how it was_   _me_   _that broke her? Even if you fix me, like you say you’re gonna, she’s gonna be a constant reminder of all of_   _this_ _. You two won’t last. She’ll never get passed this, and you know what? Neither will you._

_You know, this is all your fault, if you would have just left her behind, I woulda never—_

_I know._

Desperately wanting to comfort you and calm you down, just like he did _that night_ , just like he’s done for _months_ now, Sam forgets all that he’s learned about you not wanting to be touched and moves toward you. However, the second he moves, you try to scramble away and crack your shoulder loudly into the wall.

“NO! DON’T TOUCH ME!” You shriek and start to sob even harder. “STAY AWAY!”

“Sammy,” Dean whispers softly, finally able to find his voice and flinching when you throw yourself further into your corner, this time hitting the side of your face against the wall. He quickly steps forward and pulls Sam up off the floor, trying to ignore the fact that you’re sobbing so hard that you’re gagging. “C’mon, just give her a little space.”

Sam shrugs Dean away. “I can’t- I’m not going anywhere,” he says more to you than Dean. Then he looks up at his brother. “I can’t just leave…”

Dean pulls again on Sam’s arm, trying to get him out of the room, and then Dean gets a sharp whiff of a familiar spicy smell that makes him sick, and he just _knows_ what this is all about. “Out. _Now_.” He yanks on Sam’s arm and barely gets him out into the hallway. “What the hell? How did you even…? _Why_ are you wearing _my_ deodorant?”

“What?” Sam rips his eyes away from you sobbing and shaking in the corner, so close to hyperventilating. “What the hell kind of question is that? I didn’t. I’m _not_.”

Dean looks over at you, still mumbling your panicked questions, rocking back and forth, and sobbing, and he just knows. “It’s the smell, Sammy. She remembers _that smell._ _I_ can smell it.” _She remembers the smell – the smell of me._

Just as Dean says the words, Sam remembers.

Trying to be quick after his shower, he dug in Ziplock bag on the bathroom counter with all the random deodorants you’d found in both his and Dean’s bags over the many months you’ve lived with them. You’d taken them all and put them into one bag, trying to be helpful, and in his rush, Sam didn’t even smell or check for his own. He was in a hurry, wanting to climb back into bed with you, and without looking, he just grabbed the first stick of deodorant he touched – _Dean’s deodorant._ Now, he smells it too. It’s spicy – _not_ warm _or_ musky _or_ safe, and he remembers _that_ _smell_ ; he remembers it from the motel room from when you gagged in bed and pleaded to him to make it go away.

Sam’s stomach turns, and he almost throws up right in the hallway.

_Oh, God, Sam! He’s all over me! Get him off me, please, Sam! Make the smell go away!_

Sam remembers you begging him to make the smell go away. He remembers scooping you up and carrying you to the bathroom, smelling the sweat, spice, and sex: the same smell he can smell all over himself.

_‘Just-got-out-of-the-shower-Sam’… Mmmm. Your soap, it smells clean, and your aftershave and deodorant, it’s warm, and musky…and safe._

“I didn’t --” he starts, but has to stop so he can swallow the urge to heave. _I don’t smell safe anymore_ , Sam thinks to himself. _I smell like **him** …_ “That’s why… Oh, God… But I don’t… But she’s been around you this whole time! How? _Why_? What made it… _this_ happen now?”

“ _That_ smell, Sammy, it made _me_ sick, so I stopped… I couldn’t – it was the smell… Made the flashbacks… I couldn’t stand it. Stopped using it – got rid of everything when I _came back_.”

Now, Sam feels like _he’s_ going to hyperventilate. “There was a bag in the bathroom, from when _______ unpacked our bags… Dean, I didn’t-I didn’t mean…” And then he feels an urge very similar to something he assumes you felt in the motel room: he _needs_ it off of him. _Now._

“I know you didn’t.”

“I need to shower.” Sam wants to throw up.

“Go.” Dean tells his brother. “I’ll stay.”

“No! I can’t just… I can’t just _leave her_!”

You flinch in the corner, and both Winchesters turn their attention to you, seeing you start to rock back and forth even faster. “Make it go away. Make it go away. Make it go away,” you repeat over and over again.

Sam tries to go to you again, but Dean steps in front of him. “Sam, you _have_ to. You’re the only one who can help her, and you can’t do that smellin’ like… _me_.”

Knowing his brother is right, Sam nods his head. He trusts Dean, and even though you’re petrified of him right now, Sam knows, without a doubt that Dean would _never_ hurt you. “Just don’t… Don’t get too close, and don’t touch her, don’t even --”

“I know. I won’t. Just go.”

Nodding his head again, Sam sprints down the hallway, and just for a minute Dean watches you from the hallway. He’s _your_ protector; he’s _always_ been _your_ protector, and wanting to do _something_ to help you, to comfort you in _any way,_ he takes a chance and slowly walks into Sam’s bedroom. You freeze at the sight of him, and instantly stop sobbing, but the tears keep falling from your eyes that stay locked on him, just like that day in the garage, just like he taught you to track _monsters_.

When you stay huddled in your little corner, Dean slowly takes another step and another and another until he can sit on the far corner of Sam’s bed. You don’t take your eyes off of him, and Dean makes the smallest non-threatening movements he can.

“What can I --”

You jump and press yourself further into your corner at Dean’s words. “I shouldn’t be here,” you whisper to no one.

“Yes, you should,” Dean answers in the same whisper-soft tone. “Sam wants you here. _I_ want you here.”

“It’s _that_ smell.”

“I know.” Dean’s voice cracks. “I can smell it too.”

“But Sam’s _not_ _supposed_ to smell like that. _He_ smelled like that. What _he_ … _took_ , I’ll never get it back. I’m broken.”

“No, you’re not; you are _not_ broken.”

For a few minutes, you go quiet and just stare at him. Dean lets you, and he doesn’t move.

“You were right,” you whisper after a while.

“I was?” He asks you softly.

“ _You_ used me up. _You_ broke me, and now nobody wants me anymore.”

Dean wants to die, and just like you, tears start to fall down his cheeks. After all this time, he _still_ can’t bring himself to tell you _that_ wasn’t him, so instead he says, “Sam wants you. _______, he _loves_ you. You’re not --”

“You’re LYING! DEMONS LIE! _My_ Dean told me that! YOU’RE NOT _MY_ DEAN!” You start to sob and shake again. “Please, don’t…” You pull your knees closer to your chest. “Please, don’t hurt me again! I’m sorry I didn’t listen! Please don’t… Oh God…” Your eyes go even wider, and Dean swears your cheeks go even paler. “Please, don’t hurt Sam!”

_Oh, baby, I hope it was as good for you as it was for me. I promise we’ll do this again sometime if you even **think** of coming after me. Do you understand? You don’t keep your promises, then I don’t keep mine. Do-you-understand? Or do you want Sam to be a bloody pile of moose on the floor? He’d make a big pile, and I’ll make you watch. Sammy’ll be dead because of you. _

Dean can’t breathe.

_Something bad is coming._

_Something bad always comes._

_Something bad is here._

_Me._

Dean always knew he’d pay the price, but he didn’t know you’d pay it too.

-

Once inside the bathroom, Sam hits the floor, his knees coming down painfully on the cold and hard tile, and he vomits the second the door closes behind him. His knees, head, stomach, throat, and his heart all throb, and he keeps gagging. The spicy smell is strong in his nose.

Still dry-heaving, Sam pushes himself up off the floor and flings himself into the shower. As soon as the icy-cold water starts to spray down on him, he doesn’t even take the time to adjust the temperature, he just pours a handful of shampoo into his hand and scrubs his hair, face, and body.

_Oh, God, Sam! He’s all over me! Get him off me, please, Sam! Make the smell go away!_

Sam starts to use the blunt edges of his fingernails to scrub his armpits.

_Sam, make the smell go away._

_I will._

Mid-scrub, a gentle smell fills his nose, and as soon as he breathes it in, he knows it’s _your_ shampoo. Still scrubbing at his skin, Sam lets the smell calm him down because he knows he needs to be calm for you.

_Sam, you have to. You’re the only one who can help her, and you can’t do that smellin’ like…me._

When his whole body is covered in white suds, he rinses off, smells himself, and gags. Just like you in that motel room, _that night,_ Sam can still smell _it_. Three more times he scrubs himself – with his own soap this time – until red lines show up and down the undersides of his arms from his fingernails, and Sam keeps scrubbing until every inch of his body is covered with soap. When the soap bubbles are rinsed away for the third time, he’s thankful all he can smell is _clean_. After the water is shut off, Sam doesn’t take a second to dry off, he just grabs his jeans from the floor and pulls them on, but stops when he sees the Ziplock bag sitting right there on the countertop.

_‘Just-got-out-of-the-shower-Sam’… Mmmm. Your soap, it smells clean, and your aftershave and deodorant, it’s warm, and musky…and safe._

Sam digs in the bag until he finds _his_ deodorant, puts some on, then throws the rest of the bag and all its contents into the garbage can. He can’t move fast enough when he sprints down the hallway to his bedroom.

“You’re LYING! DEMONS LIE! _My_ Dean told me that! YOU’RE NOT _MY_ DEAN!” Sam hears you scream when he’s half-way to his bedroom. “Please, don’t… Please, don’t hurt me again! I’m sorry I didn’t listen! Please don’t… Oh God… Please, don’t hurt Sam!”

Sam runs passed Dean and tries to go straight into his bedroom, but Dean stops him. When Sam turns to look at his brother, he sees that Dean’s face is ashen and tear-stained, and he’s rubbing furiously at The Mark on the inside of his arm.

“Sammy, I didn’t mean to… ______, she thinks… She thinks _I’m_ going to…”

“ _That_ wasn’t _you_ , Dean.” Sam grabs onto the collar of Dean’s shirt and looks him square in the eyes. “ _You_ would _never_ hurt her. _Ever.”_

Dean hears his brother’s words, and he nods his head dumbly, wishing he could believe them. He winces when he hears another series of sobs rip free from you. “I’m good,” Dean pulls himself together enough to say the lie. “ _______ needs you. I’ll stay out here.”

“I mean it, Dean: that _wasn’t you_!” Sam pries Dean’s left hand away from rubbing at The Mark, and he points to it. “ _This_ is _not_ you. _You_ would _never --_ ”

“I’m good,” Dean repeats, nodding his head and taking in a deep breath. “Go.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure. Sam, she needs you; only you can help her.”

After one last highly-skeptical look at Dean, Sam goes back into his bedroom.

Once Sam’s gone, Dean backs up against the wall outside Sam’s door and slides down to the floor. The Mark is scalding on his skin, but he doesn’t touch it, nor does he rub at it, he simply pulls out the mixtape you made him that he _always_ keeps in his pocket, holds it tightly in his hands, and waits.

-

“_______?” Sam whispers your name when he gets inside his bedroom, and you look up at him, but keep very still. Walking very slowly up to you, Sam holds his hands up and sinks down onto the floor a few feet from you. “It’s okay; it’s just me.”

“How is _he_ …? I w-watched you, Sam! You-you-you fixed him!”

“I did.” Sam keeps his voice soothing and calm even though his heart is pounding in his chest, and he’s on the verge of tears. It’s _his_ turn to do that thing – to not be afraid, nervous, or panicked _for_ _you_. “That’s Dean; that’s _your_ Dean – _our_ Dean. He’s not going to hurt you; _I’m_ not going to hurt you.”

“ _He_ said-” You gasp for breath. “D-Dean said that if I didn’t- That if I didn’t keep my promise, he would… Oh, God, Sam!” You gasp again. “HE’S HERE!”

“No,” Sam tells you softly and shakes his head. “That’s _your_ Dean; he would _never_ hurt you.”

“I don’t underst --” you choke out, but have to stop to try to gasp for breath.

Sam watches you and your struggle to breathe, but then your face change from a pale white to a sickly gray color. “Hey, hey, hey…” He reaches his hand out to you, but he doesn’t touch you. “ _______, you _have_ to breathe.”

“D-d-don’t touch me,” you stutter, your chest heaving as your try to pull in breaths that never really come. 

“I won’t,” Sam promises, still keeping his hand outstretched to you. “But can you touch me? It’s me; it’s Sam, and I won’t hurt you.”

With wide eyes you shake your head at him, still trying to breathe between your sobs. “He’s… Don’t let him hurt me again.”

“I won’t,” Sam’s voice breaks. “Just take my hand, and I’ll get you out of here, okay?”

You squish yourself further into your corner and shake your head again. “Not safe.”

Wanting to do something – _anything_ to help you, Sam has an idea. Very slowly, he reaches behind his back, under his bed, and slowly pulls out the canister of salt he gave to you the day he cured Dean. He uses it to make a salt circle around himself, slides the canister back under his bed, and holds his hand out to you again. “It’s safe in here. Take my hand.”

Sam watches your eyes dart up toward his door, and he moves his face so he can catch your eyes again. “It’s just you and me in here. I won’t let anything happen, I promise. Nothing’s gonna hurt you.”

“Wh-where is h-he?”

“Not in here.” Sam keeps his hand outstretched. “You’re safe, I swear it. Just take my hand.”

From the false-safety of your corner, you look up at Sam.

_After Sam had taken you out of the dungeon and way from demon-Dean’s cruel words, you watched as Sam dug in his bedside table drawer and pulled out an angel blade and a flask of holy water. “I don’t know if the angel blade will work on him, but the holy water will. If something goes wrong, use the holy water, and you hide.” Reaching under his bed, Sam pulled out a canister of salt. “You take this with you, and you make a thick line in front of the door; he can’t cross that.”_

Remembering Sam’s words, and remembering one of the very first things Sam taught you when you moved into the bunker – demons can’t cross a salt line – you carefully reach your hand out to Sam’s and pull yourself and your tear-soaked white sheet out of your corner. After you practically throw yourself into Sam’s lap, almost immediately, you smell _safe_ -Sam, _clean_ -Sam, _musky_ -Sam, and you cling to him while clutching his hand tightly and sobbing into his bare chest.

“See?” Sam asks softly, but keeps his promise and doesn’t touch you; he just lets you touch him. “It’s okay. You’re safe; no one’s gonna hurt you.”

After a couple minutes, when he’s sure you’re not going to lunge back into your corner, with his hand not held in a death-grip by yours, Sam carefully opens his dresser drawer and pulls out one his plaid shirts. He shakes the folds out and drapes it over your shoulders, still shaking from sobs. Just as Sam’s finished covering you with his shirt, you snatch up his other hand and hold it tightly between his chest and yours.

-

Once it seemed like you’d calmed down a little bit, without making a sound, Dean moved from his place outside Sam’s door. He made sure to keep himself out of sight, but he _had_ to know that you were alright, or that you would, at some point, be alright. Dean just _had to_ know that you weren’t going to bash in the side of your face on the wall anymore.

So, Dean sits on the cold and hard bunker floor with the mixtape you made him in his hands, just listening to Sam say calm and gentle words to you and shush away your sobs. Even though Sam’s repetitive, _‘See? It’s okay. You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you. Just keep breathing. I’m right here_ ’s are meant for you, Dean uses them to calm himself down too. But just as Dean finds himself starting to be able to breathe again, Sam’s _‘I won’t let anything bad happen to you again. I love you. You’re safe_ ’s change into something else.

“______, it’s okay,” Sam tries to assure you, but his voice has that panicked-tone again, and Dean wishes he could see what’s going on. “You’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to you, but you have to breathe.”

“Hurts, Sam. Chest. Hurts.”

“Your heart’s been pounding like crazy for almost two hours – I can feel it. Just keep breathing. Just like me. See?” Dean hears Sam breathe in a heavy breath through his nose. “Yup, just like that. Good. Okay, let’s do it again.”

Dean finds himself breathing along with you and Sam.

“Sam. Hurts. Can’t! Sam! Help!”

“Hey, hey, shhh. Try another breath. You have to breathe, and it’ll get better.”

“No. I need…”

“You need to breathe.”

“No. I need…”

“Whatever you need, I’m here, but you have to _breathe._ ”

“I need…”

“I know, I know. Just breathe. C’mon, breathe with me.”

“NO! I need… I NEED HANNAH!”

Dean’s eyes fly open, and he pulls his phone out of his pocket so quickly he almost throws it across the hallway. He dials Cas’s number, committed to his memory, and as the phone rings in his hand, he remembers something he’s not thought of in months.

_“Welcome back,” Dean heard Sam say after splashing him with holy water._

_It took Dean a second to come back to himself. He looked at his brother, then at Cas, and at Hannah in the corner of the dungeon with you curled up so small in her lap. Then he watched you stand up, walk over to Sam, grab his hand, and silently sob into his chest. At the first sound of your sobs, and when your eyes timidly looked at his, Dean remembered everything: his time as a demon, his galavanting with Crowley, and exactly what he **did**_ _to you. His stomach flipped when you tore your eyes away from him, like you couldn’t bear to look at him, and then Hannah said the strangest thing._

_“If you want me to, I can still wipe your memories; I can make it all go away.”_

_Dean watched you shake your head, still crying into Sam’s chest, and you said something he never understood, “No.”_

 


	15. Paint it Black: Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Then: The first night you and Sam stayed in the cabin in the woods, Sam had a nightmare. Living the life that he does and having lost the people that he has, Sam has fears. Even though the nightmare was painful, vivid, and shook him to his core, it made Sam realize something _very_ important. 
> 
> Now: After _the smell_ brought you back to a terrifying place: _the night_ the monster inside of Dean came to the cabin in the woods. In pain and filled with fear, you screamed for Hannah, and Dean called her as quickly as he could. 
> 
> Hannah comes and does exactly what you ask her to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, a HUGE thank you to my dear readers who have helped me through this past month with comments and sweet, little Tumblr messages. It’s been a trying month for me – both personally and artistically, and I love that you’ve all stuck by me. 
> 
> As always, a second and equally huge thank-you goes out to [lady_ataralasse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ataralasse/pseuds/lady_ataralasse). She is my cheerleader and is amazing. 
> 
> This chapter is called _Paint it Black_ for many reasons, all of which will be revealed soon. It’s a two-part chapter, which will be where _I See a Red Door_ finds it’s ending. 
> 
> I swear to you, you will NOT have to wait over a month for the conclusion.
> 
>  _I See a Red Door's_ title and chapter titles are based off of [_Paint it Black_](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AF85_vVnrbo), by The Rolling Stones.

The first time the dream came to Sam, it was the very first night the two of you had stayed in shack in the middle of the woods. Out of nowhere, he found himself in bed, shaking and sweating as his eyes stared into the pitch-black darkness of the room. He remembered the Coleman lantern was sitting on the floor next to the bed, and moving very carefully, so he didn’t wake you up, Sam reached down and turned it on. When the dim, gray-glow filled the dingy, little cabin, Sam turned to look at you while you slept next to him, but you weren’t there. With a touch of his hand, he felt the blanket you had laid down over the musty and ancient mattress next to him was cold. Quickly, he looked down next to his boots to see that your shoes were gone.  
  
_Maybe she just went outside to go to the bathroom_ , Sam thought to himself, but he knew better; something was wrong. Bobby, Kevin, Henry, Ellen, and Jo: people he’d cared for and lost in the most brutal ways ran through Sam’s mind as he searched every corner of the tiny shack.

 _If something happens to her…_ Unable to finish the sentence, Sam let his thoughts trail off.  
  
Taking no time to step into his boots, Sam ran out of the shack and into the night, calling out your name. He circled the old and decrepit little building, but found nothing: not a track, a footprint, or sign that you had stepped foot outside the shack. Just as he turned to start running the three miles back to his truck, Sam saw you standing in the woods, about ten feet away, just looking at him. A relieved breath escaped his lungs, and he smiled just a little bit.  
  
“You scared the crap out of me,” Sam called to you as he started to jog in your direction. With every step he took, he could feel the dry crumble of leaves and twigs below his feet, and the cool air made the hairs on his neck and arms stand on end. When he finally got to your side, he stood in front of you. “What’re you doing out here?”  
  
“I just had to go to the bathroom. I was gone for like five minutes.” You smiled at him and chuckled at his paranoia. “C’mon.” You held out your hand. “Let’s go back inside, I’m freezing.”  
  
With a smile on his face, Sam reached for your hand, but grabbed thin air.  
  
“Sam? What are you doing?” You asked him with a confused look on your face. “Take my hand. Don’t let me go too.”  
  
Sam tried again and again, but no matter what he did, he couldn’t touch you; his hand just went through yours.  
  
“Something’s wrong!” Sam tried for your hand again, and he didn’t understand what was happening.  
  
“I know you tried,” Sam heard you whisper more softly than the wind blowing through the trees, “but it’s too late.”  
  
He didn’t know what you meant, but he still said, “No, it’s not.”  
  
Still trying to reach for your hand, Sam looked at you and the second he did, he watched you fade away; you were just _gone_. It was like one minute you were there and the next, you just vanished right in front of his eyes. Somehow he knew he wasn’t getting you back.  
  
The next thing Sam knew, he was being shaken, and he could hear your voice. “Sam! Wake up!”  
  
He bolted upright on the sagging mattress and saw that the little shack was filled with a dim-orange light of the Coleman lantern. “_______?"  
  
“Yeah; it’s me. You were having a night --”  
  
Sam cut you off by wrapping his arms tightly around your body and hugging you.    
  
“Sam…” you rasped against his chest and tapped his shoulder. “Can’t breathe… Too tight…”  
  
Barely loosening his grip on you, he mumbled into your hair, “You were gone.”  
  
“Gone? It was just a dream. You’re awake now. I’m right here.”  
  
“I woke up, and you were just… _gone_.”  
  
“Where could I have gone? I probably couldn’t even find my way back to the truck. You and Dean never got around to teaching me ‘Winchester Survival Skills.’ ”  
  
Knowing he couldn’t explain what his dream was about, but being completely aware it wasn’t about you needing survival skills, Sam laid back on the bed and pulled you with him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked softly.  
  
Sam shook his head and whispered softly, “It was just a dream.” He wished he could believe his own words.  
  
You felt so warm next to him, so real, and so safe, that all the panic and fear slowly started to melt away from Sam. He sighed into your mouth when you softly kissed his lips, and even though just a few seconds before you said he was holding you too tightly, Sam pulled you closer to him. Instead of just lying next to him, you put your leg over the top of Sam’s thighs and climbed up on top of him. He was pleased that you seemed to understand that he just needed to _feel_ you.  
  
“You brought me out here with you,” you murmured while kissing and nipping down Sam’s jaw, then reached up to kiss him. “You won’t get rid of me that easily.”  
  
“Good,” Sam answered as his hands slipped under the hem of your shirt to touch your skin.  
  
It was chilly that night in the shack in the woods, so Sam didn’t pull your shirt up over your head, he just ran his hands up and down your back as you kissed him. The more Sam touched you, the more real you were, and the more dream-like his nightmare felt. With his hands trailing down your back, he brought them down further to cup your ass in his hands, feeling the warmth of your body heat through the flannel of your pajama pants.  
  
“It’s okay,” you cooed softly into Sam’s ear, petting his hair gently, and trying to comfort him. “I’m right here; I _want_ to be here. We’re going to find Dean, you’re going to fix him, and then we'll _all_ go home.”  
  
That was _exactly_ Sam’s mission: find Dean, fix him, and get him home – that was _always_ Sam's mission. For weeks he’d been on auto-pilot: _Stick to the mission, Sam. Find Dean. Cure him. Save him._ But he’d never given any thought to your take on the whole situation. It shocked him at how easily you said the words and how much confidence was in your voice.  
  
Before Sam could stop himself he asked, “How do you know?”  
  
Immediately, you answered, “Because I believe in you.”  
  
For a second, Sam stayed very still underneath you in the bed. Your words were effortless, coming from you in a tiny whisper, but they had so much feeling behind them. Stunned by your faith in him, Sam just stared up at you for a minute. He felt the pads of your thumbs gently rub at his temples and your fingertips tuck his hair behind his ears, and that was the second Sam knew he loved you.

Of course, there had always been love between you and him before, the kind of love one would feel for a friend or someone they cared about, but in that moment, for Sam, it was different. Amazed by your confidence in him and overwhelmed by his newly discovered feelings for you, all Sam could simply do was reach up with his hands to cup your face and kiss you.  
  
Once his lips touched yours, neither you nor Sam cared that it was barely forty degrees in the run-down, little shack. He worked your shirt up over your head and rolled both himself and you over on the bed, so he was above you. As soon as he did that, you started to pull at the drawstring of his flannel pants, and Sam sat back on his knees, so he could pull his own shirts up over his head. After kicking away his own pants and pulling yours off of you, every piece of clothing was gone, and Sam’s mouth found yours again.

The air was cool, but Sam's skin was plenty warm in contrast. The palms of his hands cupped your breasts, while his thumbs circled the sensitive points of your nipples, making a rush of heat fan through your body, warding off the cold. The chilly air was irrelevant when Sam traded his fingers for his lips, and his hot and wet mouth sucked and licked at your nipples, leaving them covered in his warm saliva, only to cool and harden even further in the air.

Sam’s huge hands ran down your body, caressing the fullness of your hips, the softness of your thighs and calves, and when you thought he touched every inch of you, his hands worked their way back up your body and did it all over again. Knowing what he was doing, knowing that Sam was quite literally trying to hold and feel every part of you that he could, to chase away the nightmare he had of you being gone, you made extra sure to touch him just as much. With one hand, your fingers weaved into his soft, brown hair, giving it little tugs and holding it tighter when his teeth dragged over your nipples or the roughness of his unshaven chin grazed your sensitive skin. Your other hand stroked his face and his neck, then reached down to rub at his side and up and down his back.  

Sam’s hands were touching you everywhere they could, and you didn’t even notice when one of them disappeared for a second, only to reappear again between your legs. You gasped when his fingers slid between the wetness of your folds to just barely breach your slick entrance. Bringing some of your wetness up to your clit, Sam’s fingers drew circles around it, making your whole body quiver.

While his fingers brought you closer and closer to orgasm, Sam’s lips moved back up to your mouth, hungrily devouring all the sounds you made. With his body flush with yours and more of him within reach, even as Sam and his amazing fingers urged you come, you were able to reach down and take his cock in your hand.

Moments prior, when his mouth was lapping at and teasing your nipples, you could feel the solid line of Sam’s length pressed into your leg. When you tugged at his hair, you were able to feel him rut against your skin, spreading pre-come with every roll of his hips. Before, Sam was just beyond reach of your hand, but with his change in position, you were _finally_ able to reach him.

At first touch, Sam practically growled into your mouth, and his kisses changed from hungry to wild and almost frenzied. You were able to get in a few pumps, finally able to feel the heat and heaviness in your hand, but it didn’t last long because Sam stole his mouth away and pushed himself up on his knees.

For just a minute, both you and Sam panted in the dim-orange light the Coleman lantern gave off in the room. You looked up at him, and he looked down at you, chests heaving, sexes throbbing, and every space around the two of you filled with anticipation. Other than your bent legs on either side of Sam’s knees, you weren’t touching, but that didn’t last long.

Still trying to chase away the visions of his nightmare, Sam literally _needed_ to touch you, _needed_ to feel you, _feel_ that you were really there, and that you weren’t going to fade away right in front of his eyes. With almost unbelievable speed, yet still graceful and gentle as ever, Sam used both of his hands to reach under your arms and lift you up off the bed, then set you onto the tops of his thighs. Immediately, your arms wrapped around Sam’s neck, and his hands held your hips and waist, while he shifted from a kneeling position on the bed to a sitting one.

Sam’s cock thrummed between his middle and yours, and both he and you could feel the wetness from your pussy drip onto the tops of his thighs. With blown pupils covering almost all of the hazel in his eyes, Sam locked his eyes onto yours and lifted you up. Positioning you over him and slowly bringing you back down and around him made Sam pull a sharp breath in through his teeth, then groan deeply when the head of his cock was finally enveloped in you. He loved the sounds you made when he grazed over your g-spot, so he lifted you back up an inch and rubbed himself into that same spot over and over again before finally letting you sink completely down onto him.

You and Sam moved together in that tiny shack in the woods that first night. Salt lines were laid perfectly in front of the windows and doors, and Devil’s traps shone brightly with their spray painted red pentagrams and glyphs on the dirty wooden floors. Sam’s gun was stashed under the pillow just inches from where his powerful hands worked you over him, pulling you tightly to him with his fingertips pressed so firmly into your hips that the pressure only added to the pleasure, magnifying everything by an incomprehensible amount.

While Sam’s hands held you and moved you in ways that made his gravelly-breaths stutter and break off in his throat, the same movements made you keen and moan, breathing out Sam’s name and begging for more. Then, before you even realized what was happening, there was a _whoosh_ of air that blew past your face. When you looked up, Sam was pressing you back into the pillow, draping himself over you, and wrapping your legs around his waist. While his chest was pressed into yours, his lips were kissing you hard, sucking on your tongue, and stealing your breath away. Over and over again, Sam pounded into you, while still holding you so tightly to him, and thrust by thrust, his undulations gained momentum as the pitch and volume of your moans increased.

When he moved his mouth and pressed his lips into your neck, licking and sucking at your skin, tasting your sweat, Sam could feel your pulse race. He could feel your core flutter around him, and Sam thrust into you harder, urging you closer and closer to orgasm, while he let his build. He watched your tongue dart out and lick your lips, and he groaned when your fingers dug into his back or grazed over his sensitive nipples.

After stealing your mouth again, Sam lightly touched your clit with his thumb and felt your whole body tense up underneath his while you moaned out his name. Every time he moved inside you, and every time the tip of his thumb moved in your wetness, Sam was there to swallow down very sound you gave him, but it wasn’t enough. Sam wanted to _feel_ you – _needed_ to feel you, and when he swiveled his hips _just so,_ he finally got what he wanted: your core clenching tightly around his cock.  

You cried out when you came, tearing your mouth away from Sam’s, arching your back up off the bed and pulling him closer to you. Sam tried to watch you, tried to savor the look on your face as you came, but as you rode out your own orgasm, rolling your hips against Sam’s, twisting…grinding… _urging_ , it was too much, and he came so hard he lost his breath.

For just a second, for both you and Sam, everything faded into nothing, and when you came back to yourselves, you were both still rocking against each other. There was just a slow rhythm and pace, gently dying down with each motion, until the both of you fell still, panting heavily in the stillness of the tiny, abandoned shack in the middle of Nowhere, Montana.

Even though the air was chilly, both you and Sam were covered in sweat. You reached up to move a damp lock of hair from his forehead to tuck it behind his ear. Sam and you chuckled softly when the wet section of hair fell away again, grazing the tip of your nose on its way down to the side of his face.

The both of you groaned when Sam carefully slipped out of you, but you were pleasantly surprised when Sam didn’t move from his place above you. His kiss-swollen lips grazed over yours, and he enjoyed you: the way you smelled, the way you felt under his body, and the way you felt in his hands. It didn’t take long before the sweat covering both of your bodies cooled in the night air, and Sam smirked at you when you shivered under him. Just a second later, Sam shivered too, and it was quickly decided that pajamas needed to be found.

Once you were both cleaned up and back into much warmer attire, Sam pulled you back into bed, next to him, and flipped the heavy blanket over both himself and you. It only took moments for Sam’s body heat to warm your cold toes and fingers, and even though you were comfortably warm again, you snuggled further into Sam. A breeze rustled through the trees outside the shack, and you and Sam laid together in a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts.

You thought about how you saw Sam toss and turn in his nightmare, and it worried you. Sam was always brave, strong, and seemingly fearless, but hearing him whimper in his sleep, his sounds made you really see the weight and the pressure he put on himself to find Dean. Before, you wanted to help; you wanted to go on the road with Sam to help him find Dean because _you wanted to help_ , but as you remembered the way Sam kissed you after he woke up, something changed.

It was the way he held your face while he kissed you: his hands held your cheeks, your jaw, and the tips of his fingers reached up into your hair, like he was trying to reach everything all at once. It was then that you realized and really understood _,_ Sam _needed_ you; he _wanted_ you. It wasn't about two people finding more in their friendship. It wasn't about you and Sam sharing a bed, kissing, touching, or having sex. It was about being there for someone, trusting them no matter what, believing in them, protecting them - _loving them._ It was while Sam held you close like he was afraid you were just going to up and disappear, that you realized you loved him.

Something happened between you and Sam that first night in the shack in the woods. Something changed, and you both knew it, but neither of you said a word. You both _knew_ and had a pretty good idea that the other knew as well, but being on the road, looking for Dean, scrambling for leads that seemed to bring the two of you nowhere, wasn’t the time. And that was okay because that’s the way it was – the way it _had to be._ Finding Dean was Sam’s top priority – his _mission_ – and helping Sam was yours.

The dream didn’t make Sam's head feel like it was going to split open like his visions from so long ago, but it still put him on edge. He didn’t understand where the dream came from or what it could have possibly meant, but in a way the _unknown_ and the _fear_ made the nightmare worse than any vision he could’ve ever had.  
  
_Three nights later:_  
  
Sam woke up in the motel bed when his hand touched something wet and sticky. In a panic, he reached over to the nightstand and turned on the lamp. When he saw his hand in the light, the tips of his fingers were covered in your blood. Instantly, he flipped the scratchy bedding away and saw a small puddle of blood on the sheets beneath you.

Eventually, Sam got you to wake up and tried to get you to go to the hospital, but you flat out refused. So, he did the only thing he could do to help you: he called Castiel.  
  
Cas came with Hannah, and a strange thought entered Sam’s mind. Before he could think it all the way through, he asked Cas if Hannah was able to wipe memories the way Cas did with Lisa and Ben. He never got a chance to explain his reasoning for bringing it up, because when you flat out said ‘no,’ Sam let it drop. He knew what had just been done to you - what had _just_ been _taken_ from you - and Sam could _never_ allow Hannah to just _take_ your memories without your permission. Sam just wanted to give you some options. White washing your brain wasn’t an option that Sam liked or even wanted. He didn't want to lose you - he'd _just_  realized how he felt about you. He didn't want to never see you again, have you not know who he was, have you not know that he loved you and wanted to be with you, but it wasn’t about him, it was about you. You were so scared, and Sam felt so helpless.  
  
As soon as you heard Sam even mention ‘memory wipe,’ you vehemently said ‘no,’ and Sam never pressed. The look of betrayal in your eyes when you thought he would just have Hannah take everything away without even asking you, did something to Sam, and he never wanted you to look at him like that again. He made his promise to you, _again_ , that he’d never do anything that you didn’t want to do, and he meant it – in _every_ sense of the word.

Sam was, however, very much relieved when you agreed to let Hannah take away the _physical_ pain. With just one touch from Hannah, every _physical_ mark and every bruise from _that_ _night_ was gone, even the blood from the sheets. There were still dark circles under your eyes, and you still curled yourself up into a ball, trying to make yourself as small as possible. When Hannah gently touched you one more time, you were peacefully asleep in Sam’s lap, but that night, even with the dry-swallowed pain pill from Hannah, Sam didn’t sleep as soundly as you did.  
  
That night, the dream came back, and it was then that Sam understood.  
  
In Sam’s dream, he found himself in the hotel room, and the first thing he saw was Hannah’s hand reach for the side of your face. Somewhere down deep inside himself, he knew he was dreaming, but like dreams often do, it felt _so real_.

At the sight of you sitting next to Hannah, Sam panicked because somehow, he _just knew_ what was going to happen. Jess, Madison, and Sarah’s faces popped into his head; he’d lost them all in such brutal ways, and with just one touch from Hannah, Sam _just knew_ he’d lose you too. Just as his brain sent the message to his body to stop Hannah before she even touched you, it was over. Sam watched all the bruises and marks disappear from your body, and the blood stain on the bed even vanished. The dark circles under your eyes faded away, and slowly, you uncurled your arms from your knees.  
  
“_______?” Sam whispered your name, but you just looked up at him like you didn’t even know who he was. “______?" He tried again, even though he _just knew_ you had no idea who he was.

He was right, you didn't answer, but Hannah did, “It’s all gone – _everything_.”  
  
“That’s _not_ what she wanted!” Sam yelled angry and petrified. “I promised her that she never had to do anything she didn’t want to do! I promised! You said you wouldn’t do it unless she agreed! She said ‘no’! You promised!”  
  
“It’s too late,” Hannah said as she helped you up from the bed and walked you over to where Cas was standing. “The minute you loved her, this was always meant to be. They all die, and they all leave you behind. Now, she’s gone too.”  
  
Before Sam could object, both angels and you were just… _gone_.  
  
When Sam’s eyes snapped open in the dark, he again knew he wasn’t having a vision. There wasn’t any skull-splitting pain in his head, there was just panic and fear in his heart. Having the logic and intelligence that Sam does, he realized that night, that his dreams weren’t prophetic, instead, they just stemmed from one of his biggest fears: losing someone he cared about. He was afraid to lose _you_. It wasn’t a _hunter_ thing, or a _psychic_ thing, it was just a _man_ thing – a _human_ thing – a simple, but profound fear of someone you love somehow being taken away from you.

Sam knew it was just his own insecurities and fears. After all, how many times had angels tricked either him or Dean? How many loved ones had he lost in his life? All that unease, combined with what had happened just the night before in the shack in the woods, topped with Dean and The Mark of Cain, Sam knew it was just his subconscious warping everything into a nightmare.

He watched how Hannah was with you: she asked your permission before she even touched you, she told you everything thing she was going to do before she did it, she comforted you, and she wanted nothing more than to simply help you. Because of those things, Sam knew Hannah would never go against your wishes and just _take_ your memories like she did in his nightmare. He also knew, because of the way you reacted when the option was merely presented to you, there was no way you’d ever go through with having your memories wiped, and Sam didn’t want that either. 

With Lisa and Ben, it was like one second they knew who Dean was: their family. Then, with just one touch from Cas, Dean was just ‘the guy who lost control of his car.’ Dean had Cas take their memories of him, in an effort to keep them safe from demons and monsters that were looking to go after Dean. Demons _had_ gone after Lisa and Ben to hurt Dean, which is exactly what happened to you: a demon hurt you to hurt Sam.

Even though it was Sam’s suggestion, in his fear and panic, he didn’t think before he spoke. He never really _wanted_ that; he didn’t want to have you open your eyes and suddenly not know who he was or forget all of your time spent with him and Dean, but he didn’t want you to be scared. He didn’t want you be hurting or in danger, he just wanted you to be _safe_.  
  
Pushing the nightmare from his mind, and being careful with his sore shoulder, Sam moved himself closer to you. You were fast asleep, and Sam kept his fingers soft when he touched your hair and traced the soft skin of your cheekbone and jaw.  
  
You were real under Sam’s fingertips, _real_ and _warm_ and _there_. Not gone. _There_ , with him. _Not gone_.

From Hannah’s touch, you were fast asleep, but Sam still whispered, “I know I couldn’t before, but I swear, I’ll keep you safe.”

*//*

“You’re safe, I swear it,” Sam promises with his hand extended out to you from his salt circle in the middle of the floor.  
  
He knows you’re frightened and so confused. He heard what you screamed at Dean just moments before: _YOU’RE LYING! DEMONS LIE! MY-DEAN TOLD ME THAT! YOU’RE NOT MY DEAN!_

Sam knows there’s never been a time that you’ve _ever_ blamed Dean for anything that happened _that_ _night_ , in fact, even just moments after _it_ happened you were able to differentiate between _your_ -Dean and the monster. Still, you’re so scared and confused, and Sam just wants to show you that you’re not in any danger.  
  
“You’re safe, I swear it,” Sam repeats his promise while keeping his hand outstretched. “Just take my hand.”  
  
Refusing to let his own hand shake, Sam watches you trembling and pale, curled up in a sheet-covered ball in the corner of his bedroom. For minutes that seem to last multiple lifetimes, he follows your eyes as you tearfully study the white, salt circle around him. _Please, please, please,_ Sam begs over and over again in his mind, _It’s safe. You can trust me_. Before he can silently repeat the words one more time, Sam feels your cold and clammy hand grab tightly onto his, and you frantically scramble out of your corner and into his lap.  
  
Sam’s first instinct is to wrap your chilled and sweaty body in his arms, hold you tight, and kiss the top of your head. He wants to take you away and hide you from every evil thing in the world, but he can’t because he made a promise. Sam promised you he wouldn’t touch you, instead, he told you that _you_ could touch _him_. He’s always sworn to you that he would never do anything to you that you didn’t want him to do, and he’ll never break that promise. So, for now, Sam sits still and lets you hold tight to his hand. While you cling to him, he can feel you sobbing with your face pressed into his still damp-from-the-shower skin, and he offers up a silent request, _Please, let me smell safe._  
  
“See?” Sam asks softly, with his lips a breath’s distance away from the top of your head. “It’s okay. You’re safe; no one’s gonna hurt you.”  
  
After a little while, when your sobs change from uncontrollable to exhausted whimpers and cries, Sam slowly pulls a shirt from his dresser drawer and drapes it over your shoulders. Both he and Dean have picked on you about your love of wearing Sam’s shirts, and even though you’ve told Sam the clean shirts in his dresser don’t ‘smell as good’ as ones he’s already worn, he’s always known that wearing his shirts has brought you some sort of comfort. The first plaid shirt Sam’s fingers touch is thankfully one that is thicker than the rest of his shirts, and he hopes that it will help warm you up a little bit. Once he’s done covering your bare shoulders, you snatch up his other hand and bring it down between his chest and yours.  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam murmurs to you while using his body to rock you gently back and forth – still not touching you. “There’s nothing here to hurt you; I won’t let anything hurt you.”  
  
As the moments pass by, the sounds of your cries grow less and less panicked, but Sam still sits with you in his circle of salt, rocking you gently back and forth. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Dean move from wherever he was sitting in the hallway to just outside Sam’s bedroom door. It’s just a tiny movement, and Sam knows you didn’t see it, but he still protectively twists his shoulder just a little bit to make sure Dean stays out of your line of sight.

Getting the message, Dean moves a little bit. He still stays close enough, so that he can still see what’s going on, but moves just far enough, so he’s completely out of Sam’s range of vision - just to be safe.  
  
Just out of his peripheral view, Sam can’t see Dean’s expression, but he doesn’t need to see his brother’s face to understand that Dean just needs to know that you’re alright, or that you’re _going_ _to_ _be_ alright. It’s always been common knowledge to Sam that Dean has always considered himself your protector, even when he distanced himself from you when you first came to live with them. Dean has always seen himself as everybody’s protector; it’s just who Dean is.  
  
“It’s okay,” Sam whispers to you, but offers it to Dean as well. “It’s gonna be okay. Just breathe.”  
  
With each rocking motion, to the left and to the right, Sam tries to push away the words that keep replaying in his mind. The demon that was inside his brother warned him that you would never get passed this, that you would look at Sam and always think of _him_. As true as _his_ dark promises might be, Sam silently vows to do anything to get you through this – _anything._

He still blames himself for bringing you along and for not being able to get out of those impossible ropes. Sam knows your question earlier, about why he brought you with him wasn’t you blaming him, but he certainly blames himself. He knows better than to bring a civilian on hunts – not that you’re inept at shooting a gun, picking a lock, or digging up intel or lore, but you’re right: you’re not a hunter. Sam knows he never should have put you in jeopardy like that. However, he also knows there’s no take-backs in life – he’s experienced that firsthand on more than one occasion. None of that matters because Sam knows that he loves you, and he’ll do whatever you need to get you through this.  
  
“Just keep breathing,” Sam reminds you once again when your breath starts to get a little labored. He can hear your cries are slowly starting to subside, but you’re still working to catch your breath. He wishes he could hold you, but instead he says very softly, “I love you so much, and I promise I’ll keep you safe. Just keep breathing.”  
  
For a little while, Sam feels you continue to tremble and sniffle in his lap, and he cranes neck so he can get a look at the side of your face where you smacked it into the wall. There’s an angry, red mark just below your eye, and he can’t tell if the swelling is from the wall or from your tears – either way, it’s going to bruise. Where his too-big shirt has slipped away from the side of your body, Sam can also see the same sorts of red marks on your shoulder and elbow - both places on your body that fell victim to the hard concrete wall. Sam’s throat tightens when he remembers the last time you were covered in bruises and a strong visual pops into his head. He actually has to shake his head a little bit to get rid of it.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay,” Sam whispers again, mostly to you, but partly to himself. He sits with you in his lap, just you rocking back and forth for what seems like hours, when an involuntary, but so quiet, “I’m so sorry,” comes out of Sam’s mouth.

He doesn’t expect a response from you, but is shocked when he feels one of your fingers brush over the top of his hand. It barely feels like anything, but it’s still a tiny touch of your fingers over his knuckles. It’s not much, but it’s still everything, at least to Sam.  
  
Continuing to sit with you in his lap, feeling your hands wrapped around his, Sam wonders if this is going to put you back at the beginning. After a minute of thought, he decides it doesn’t matter. He promised you that if you ever got scared, he’d be there. He promised that if you got scared and all the good you were feeling went away, he’d do everything he could to bring you back, and he will…whatever it takes.  
  
Then, out of nowhere, Sam feels your heartbeat start to pick up again, pounding inside your chest and against his. Your tiny trembles turn into you shaking everywhere, and your breathing starts to go erratic once again.  
  
“______, it’s okay,” Sam tells you in a voice he actually has to work at to keep calm, but then you look up at him, and he can see the terror in your eyes. “It’s okay,” he promises again. “But you have to breathe.”  
  
“Hurts, Sam,” you whimper. “Chest. Hurts.”  
  
“Your heart’s been pounding like crazy for two hours; I can feel it. Just keep breathing, okay? Just like me. See?” Sam breathes in a deep breath through his nose and blows it out through his mouth, and he’s relieved when you try to copy him. “Yup.” He nods his head. “Just like that. Good. Okay, let’s do it again.”  
  
Clearly in pain, Sam watches you struggle to breathe, but you keep trying to do what he says. You try to pull in as much oxygen into your lungs through your nose as possible, and then blow it back out again, but Sam can see your continued panic has quite literally taken your breath away.  
  
“Sam! Hurts! Can’t, Sam!” You cry out in a panic-filled voice. “Help!”  
  
“Hey, hey, shhhh,” Sam tries to calm you down, knowing you’re getting more and more upset by the second. “Try another breath. You have to breathe, and it’ll get better.” Right before his eyes, your pale and sweaty face turns ashen.

“No! I need…”  
  
Sam wants to take your face in his hands and look into your eyes, but he knows he can’t, so he lets you hold onto his hands. Your fingers are cold, sweaty, and shaky, but they’re clenched so tightly to his. That’s good, because you’re fighting, and Sam will fight right alongside you. “You need to breathe. Just try --”  
  
“No!” You shake your head and hiccup through another batch of sobs. “I need…”  
  
“Whatever you need, I’m here,” Sam promises while trying to ignore his own level of anxiety as it grows by the second. “But you have to breathe.”  
  
“I need…”  
  
“I know, I know. Just breathe.” Sam swears your lips and the skin around them have a blue tint to them. “C’mon,” he urges, “Breathe with me.”  
  
“NO!” You tearfully insist. “I need… I NEED HANNAH!”

As soon as the words come out of your mouth, Sam feels your body go completely still against his. He feels your sobs instantly come to a halt, your body stops shaking, and he can feel your whole body go completely lax.

“_______?” Sam whispers your name and cranes his neck again to look down at your face.  
  
All he sees is you staring blankly at the side of his bed.  
  
“I know you’re confused and so scared, but can you look at me?” When your eyes don’t move, Sam tries something else. “Do you hear that?” He pauses to listen to Dean’s voice softly talking on the phone. “Dean’s talking to Hannah right now. She’s coming, and she’ll help you with whatever you need.” You still don’t look at him, but Sam continues in a soft whisper, “I meant what I said: _whatever_ you need, I’m here. If you’ve changed your mind, and you need Hannah to…” He sighs just a little bit while that fear from his dream twists inside chest. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”

A sharp knock on the floor causes Sam to turn his face toward his brother’s direction.

“Are they on their way?” Sam asks.

Dean only clears his throat, not wanting to risk you hearing the sound of his voice. The last thing he wants to do is scare you even more than he already has.

“Dean?”

“Yeah,” Dean answers in a rough but quiet voice. “They’ll be here as soon as they can. How’s she…? I don’t hear…”

Sam looks back down at your face. Your eyes still staring blankly at the side of his bed, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. This has happened to survivors _many_ times on hunts. People would see something traumatic: a family member killed, a ghost, or a monster, and in their hysteria, adrenaline, and shock, they would just shut down. Sometimes people’s brains just can’t take what they’ve seen or what they’ve been through, and they just have to shut everything off.

Having the knowledge doesn’t make it any easier for Sam, but he can’t keep Dean in the dark. “She’s gonna be okay. She’s…” Sam looks at your face again, your pale cheeks, and the faraway look in your eyes. “It’s just too much.”

As soon as Sam says the words, Dean knows _exactly_ what Sam means. He also knows that people can only take so much fear and anxiety before they snap. He’s seen teenage kids absolutely lose their minds over something traumatic, and they’d sit and babble nonsensically or shriek themselves hoarse until they snapped out of it. Dean’s also seen grown men watch their wives, or loved ones, or their children butchered by a razor-clawed monster, only to stare off into space, verbally and mentally unresponsive for hours or even days.

“Sammy, you gotta get her out of there, and you have to keep her warm. Bring her some place she likes…some place she feels comfortable and safe. Maybe her bedroom or --” Dean stops when he hears Sam talking to you.

“_______? It’s me; it’s just Sam. I know you’re so scared, but I’m gonna get you out of here. In order for me to do that, I have to touch you. Is that okay?”

When Dean doesn’t hear you answer Sam, he grips your mixtape tighter between his hands and rests his head back on the wall, bracing himself for the worst. However, he’s surprised when Sam stands up from the floor with you in his arms. Dean sees the vacant look in your eyes, like you’re looking _through_ everything because the world is too difficult to look at, and a fresh wave of guilt washes over him.

“It’s okay,” Sam tells you softly with his lips just barely kissing the side of your face. “We’re just gonna go up to the library and wait for Cas and Hannah.”

As Sam carries you out of his bedroom, Dean watches the sheet you’re wrapped so tightly in flutter around Sam’s knees. There’s still the plaid shirt draped over your shoulders, but Dean knows that shock victims tend to feel more at ease when they’re wrapped in a heavy blanket and at least covered in clothes. So, after Sam’s out of his bedroom, Dean counts to ten, then pushes himself up off the floor. Sam’s a good twenty feet ahead of him, and Dean follows, but instead of going straight toward the library, he takes the next left into your bedroom.

As soon as Dean’s inside, he smells _you_. Maybe it’s your perfume, or lotion, maybe even soap or some sort of girlie air freshener that you’ve added to your own space during your time living in the bunker, but he knows it’s completely _you_. It’s oddly comforting.

Respectfully, Dean opens your dresser drawers and finds a pair of soft, cotton, black pants, and a pair of thick socks. He doesn’t look for a shirt because he knows you’ll want to wear Sam’s shirt – you _always_ want to wear Sam’s shirt. On his way out, Dean turns back around and grabs one of Sam’s t-shirts draped over a chair and the blanket that’s folded up on the end of your bed, then makes his way to the entrance to the bunker to open the door for Cas and Hannah before heading up to the library.

-

Once inside the library, Sam carries you to the little couch in the corner and sits down. Like you think he’s going to let you go, Sam feels you hold tighter to him. Hoping that this your way of telling him it’s okay for him to keep touching you, Sam holds you close to him, rubs your back and kisses the top of your head like he’s wanted to, but not dared. As he does this, Sam can actually feel you relax just a little bit.

“It’s okay,” he whispers softly. “I’ve got you, and you’re safe. I know you were confused, but that was just Dean - _our_ Dean - _your_ Dean. He’d _never_ hurt you.”

You don’t answer him, and Sam didn’t expect you to, so he just keeps holding you and whispering reassuring things to you. He can’t help but count the minutes in his mind while he waits for Dean, Cas, and Hannah to come into the library.

-

You’re completely aware of what’s happening when you just let go and let everything shut off. With the fear and anxiety gone from your body, your mind is no longer blurry, and you’re finally able to think clearly. Everything is easy. It’s quiet. It’s simple.

The side of Sam’s bed is the first thing your eyes land on when the last wave of terror leaves your body. You can feel Sam’s heartbeat in his chest, pounding against yours. You can hear Dean on the phone with Cas or Hannah, telling them in a quiet, yet panicked-tone, that they need to get to the bunker as soon as possible. You can hear Sam’s strained and scared voice working hard to comfort you, telling you that everything is going to be okay, that he’s there with you, and he’ll keep you safe. Even though they’re both working to hide it, both of the brothers’ voices are filled with varying amounts guilt, worry, panic, and anxiety. It makes you want to tell them that you’re going to be okay, but being quiet, being still, and keeping tucked away inside your own mind is easier, so you stay there.

Then Sam says, “I meant what I said: _whatever_ you need, I’m here. If you’ve changed your mind, and you need Hannah to…” You hear him sigh, and the soft sound breaks your heart. “Whatever you need, I’m here.”  

You know what he’s implying, and the first word that echoed in your mind is ‘ _NO_ ,’ but you keep quiet. The thought of an angel inside your mind, just _taking_ away your memories regardless of how painful some of them are, you don’t want it. It’s not right, nor fair, and it hurts to think about, so you curl up in the silence of your own mind and just wait.

When Sam tells you that he’s going to bring you to the library, you ignore the urge to insist Sam stay behind the salt line. Silently, you remind yourself that you’re with Sam, and he’ll keep you safe, so you let Sam lift you up from the floor and carry you in his arms to the library. As soon as he walks through the library doors, you smell the familiar scent of old books mixed with a little bit of dust and the smell that the bunker seems to always have, but more importantly, you smell _Sam_. You smell his warmth, the musky smell of _his_ deodorant, _his_ sweat, and the cleanness of _his_ soap – he smells _safe._

As Sam sits down on the couch, you feel his grip on you loosen. For a minute, you think he’s going to let you go, so you hold on to him tighter, trying to tell him in your own silent, little way that you want him to touch you and hold you, so he does. From somewhere in the library you can hear the sound of a clock ticking, and while breathing in Sam’s _safe_ smell, you close your eyes and count the seconds until Hannah is there.

-

You’re cold and alone in the library when you hear a little knock on the door. When you look up from a book, you see Hannah standing in the doorway, and you just watch her, waiting for her to come inside and sit by you.

“You have to say that it’s okay for me to come in,” Hannah says with a kind smile.

“Of course you can come in,” you quickly answer, while setting down your book and standing up from the floor. “Where’s Sam?”

You wrap the red and black, plaid blanket that’s draped over your shoulders tighter around your body, but instead of making you warmer, it almost seems to be drawing warmth from your body. You’re suddenly very afraid, and you want Sam.

“Hannah, he was just here a minute ago. We were sitting on the couch together. I was --” And then it all floods back to you: _the smell_ , the fear, the confusion, the loss of control. You start to shake, but Hannah quickly walks over to you and touches your shoulder.

“Sam’s with you, but he’s not _in here_ ; only I am.”

Not understanding what Hannah’s saying, more confusion floods your mind. “Where is Sam?! He was right here!”

Both seeing and sensing your confusion and panic on the rise, Hannah gently pulls you into a hug to comfort you. “Sam’s with you, he’s waiting for you, but he can’t be _in here_ with you. I heard you call out to me before Cas even got Dean’s phone call. We got here as quickly as we could.”

Still not comprehending what Hannah is saying to you, you try to shove her away, but you end up stumbling backward a step or two. “What do you mean, _he can’t he in here with me_?” You wave your hands around the library. “He’s the one that brought me in here!”

“I know this is hard to understand,” Hannah starts slowly, and her voice is so calm and soothing, “But when I said you had to say it was alright for me to come inside here, I didn’t mean the library. We’re inside your mind. Your fear was so great that you shut yourself away. Do you remember that?

Dumbly, you nod your head.

Hannah rubs your shoulder gently. “Would you like me to help you find your way out?”

You look around the library, at the couch where Sam’s no longer sitting, at the stacks that seem to go on forever with no way out in sight, but it’s so safe that part of you doesn’t want to leave. _Out there_ , was painful, it was petrifying, and debilitating, but in here, in the library - in your _mind -_ you know you’re safe. Still, you remember tucking yourself away and how it was so easy and comfortable to do, but a part of you knows you can’t stay in your mind forever.

“I can help, “Hannah starts again when you don’t answer her question. “I can sense your fear and panic, and I can help with that. All you have to do is come out of here, and I’ll help you with anything you need.”

Retreating inside your own mind was so simple, but as you stand in front of Hannah, you can’t remember how you did it. Tucking yourself away was like flipping off a switch, but you can’t remember how to flip it back on, or even where the switch is.

“How?” You ask, feeling the hot tears prick at your eyes.

Hannah extends her hand and gives you another smile. “Just take my hand, and I’ll help you.” You look at Hannah with uncertainty, remembering her offer to ‘take it all away.’ As if she can read your thoughts, she adds, “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do; I won’t do _anything_ but help you out of here. If you want me to help you do that, all you have to do is take my hand.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to Hannah and take her hand. She carefully takes the red and black, plaid blanket off of your shoulders and replaces with a blinding, white light that embraces you so warm and comforting and gentle. When you open your eyes, you’re back in Sam’s arms.

-

Sam watches Hannah’s eyes slowly open just a second before yours do. He sees your eyes dart from him to Cas, then to Dean, and back to him. In his hands, Sam can feel your whole body clench again. Before he can even move to try to comfort you or get out a single word to reassure you, Hannah is crouched down next to the couch, holding your face carefully in her hands, and she’s looking directly into your eyes.

“Do you remember what I said before? I told you that once I got you out of there, I could help you. If you would like, I can help you calm down and take away the panic and fear. Is that what you want me to do?”

Everyone in the room sees your eyes go wide as you shake your head. It’s obvious to each of them that you think Hannah’s going to take your memories away, and it’s _very_ clear that you don’t want that.

“That’s not what I mean,” Hannah explains carefully, understanding that you’re scared and confused, so she elaborates. “I told you I would never do something you didn’t want me to do; I won’t touch your memories, but I can help you to calm down, take away the emotions – the confusion and fear – and help you think more clearly. I swear, _that’s all I’ll do_ , but you have to tell me it’s alright.”

Both Sam and Dean hold their breaths as they watch you stare at Hannah, and they simultaneously breathe a sigh of relief when you nod your head ‘yes.’

“Alright,” Hannah says softly. “Just close your eyes.”

Hannah brings her fingertips up to your forehead and lightly touches your brow. Under Sam’s hands and in his lap, he feels your body relax the second Hannah lays her hand on you. Keeping your face in her hands after all the overwhelming fear is gone from your body, she eases your head down onto Sam’s chest and softly pets your hair.

“Just take a minute to catch your breath. It’ll be a little intense at first when you come back to yourself; take it easy. We’ll give you and Sam a minute. When you’re ready, just pray to me, and we’ll come back. Then, if you want, I can help with those bruises too,” Hannah whispers softly before standing up and walking over to Cas’s side.

Just as the two angels walk out of the library, Dean hesitantly walks up to the couch with his arms full of clothes for you and Sam and a blanket.

Finally feeling like yourself – maybe even a little bit better than you did before _this morning_ happened – with a clear mind, you remember the things you said to Dean and the horrified look in his eyes when you said them. Looking at his face, seeing it filled with guilt and a little bit of fear, breaks your heart.

“I didn’t mean it,” you immediately tell Dean, while a fresh batch of tears fill your eyes.

“I know,” he answers back softly, and it’s the truth; he does know it. Trying not to look at the bruise blooming on your cheek, Dean gives you a half-smile and sets the blanket and clothing at the end of the couch. When he sees you try to give him a little smile back, he also sees the tears begin to fall down your cheeks. Quickly, he fishes a bandana out of his pocket and carefully puts it into your hand.

Before he can take his hand away, you carefully grab it with yours, and look directly into Dean’s eyes. “I’m not afraid of you. You’d _never_ hurt me, and I’m so sorry for what I said; I didn’t mean it.”

Dean gives your hand a gentle squeeze, and softly tells you, “You don’t have _anything_ to be sorry for.” His voice cracks.

Because it’s the truth, without missing a beat, you say back to him, “Neither do you.”

Dean squeezes your hand again, gives Sam a nod, and without a word, walks out of the library.

With only you and Sam left in the library, he carefully looks at you. Your eyes aren’t wild with fear, the color is coming back into your cheeks, and if Sam didn’t know any better, he’d say you look almost… _fine._

He watched as Hannah’s touch calmed you down and took your confusion and fear away. He _felt_ your whole body relax. Aside from the bruise just under your eye, you look almost _fine_. It was just seconds ago that you were in a full-blown panic attack: scared, disoriented, and practically catatonic. The longer he looks at you, the more color comes back into your cheeks, but Sam still asks, “Are you okay?”

It’s actually surprising how _normal_ you feel. You can remember what happened: _the_ _smell_ and how the memories of being in the shack, trapped underneath a heavy weight, pinned down to the bed… It was terrifying, but all that terror is _legitimately_ gone, Hannah took it away, just like she promised.

You nod your head in an answer to Sam’s question and say, “I’m a little tired.”

“Makes sense,” Sam adds softly, while still holding you close to him.

When you wipe away your tears with the bandana Dean gave you, your fingers touch the tender spot just below your eye, and you wince. “I guess I’m a little sore, too.”

Sam gently kisses your cheek, then kisses your shoulder and your elbow through the plaid shirt draped over your shoulders. “Hannah said she could fix that before she goes.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” you whisper, feeling more tears prick at your eyes. “I didn’t mean --”

“Hey,” Sam whispers gently and carefully wipes at the tears that trail down your cheeks. “You don’t need to be embarrassed.” After he kisses your forehead, you lean into his chest and bury your face under his jaw. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Both you and Sam sit quietly for a little while, and things start to become clear. Now, you understand what happened – what triggered your panic. You remember _the smell_ , and how just breathing it in filled your whole body with fear and took away all your control. The thing that confused you was that Sam isn’t supposed to smell like that. It’s been months since you’ve smelled _that smell_ , and when it came from Sam, nothing made sense. Now that things are clear and _do_ make sense, you can practically _feel_ the guilt pouring off of Sam.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“You know you didn’t do anything wrong either, right?”

Sam presses his lips together in a thin line and buries it in the top of your head. He stays quiet for a few breaths, but then answers you, “If I would have actually _looked_ at what I was doing, I wouldn’t have picked the wrong --”

You interrupt, “Don’t do that. Please? This isn’t your fault; it’s not _anybody’s_ fault. It’s over now, and I don’t want you to feel guilty, because _you_ didn’t do anything wrong.” Sam gives you a skeptical look, and you shoo it away by reaching up and pressing a small kiss to his forehead. “I’m okay.”

The skeptical look comes back. “Are you sure?”  

Because you really are, because Hannah took your debilitating fear and panic away, you nod your head and snuggle back into Sam.

He wraps his arms around you tighter, careful of your elbow and shoulder, and he feels you shiver. “You cold?”

“A little,” you answer as you pull Sam’s shirt and the sheet tighter around yourself.

“Dean brought you clothes… I can go get you some aspirin and ice for your cheek if you want to get dressed.”

You take your face out from under Sam’s chin and look up at him. “Don’t go.”

An expression of relief washes over Sam’s face. “I won’t.”

Once you start to put your arms through the sleeves of Sam’s shirt, he helps you because moving your right arm is painful. Your shoulder and elbow are both a dark shade of red and starting to turn a blackish-purple. Sam’s surprised you didn’t break your elbow; he heard how hard you smacked it into the concrete wall.

When your pants are pulled up your legs and waist, the white sheet from Sam’s bed is gone, and your thick socks are on your feet, Sam pulls a shirt over his head and wraps you up in the blanket Dean grabbed from your bedroom. He actually smiles when you snuggle back into him.

“Sam?”

“Hmm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You can ask me anything.”

“When you called Cas and Hannah to the hotel room the night that Hannah healed me, you asked Cas if Hannah could wipe my memories the way Cas did to Lisa and Ben.”

Sam nods his head. “I did ask him that, but I never --”

“That’s not what I’m asking.”

“Okay…”

“Who are Lisa and Ben? I’ve never heard you or Dean talk about them before.”

“No, I suppose not.” At first, that’s all Sam says on the matter, but then after a minute, as if he’s taking a moment to tell you the story in the least complicated way possible, he starts again. “Lisa is a woman, and Ben is her son. There was about a year where Dean lived with them. He stopped hunting, and he was just a normal guy. Then… _things_ _changed_ , and Dean started hunting again. Eventually, Dean and Lisa broke up because it was too hard to have one foot in one place and the other in another. Then, after a little while, demons went after Lisa and Ben to get to Dean. Lisa got hurt, and Ben saw it all, so to keep them safe, Dean had Cas wipe him from their memories. Cas made them forget about Dean completely and about the demon attack. Cas replaced everything with memories of a car accident.”

Sam may have taken his time to tell you the story in the least-complicated way possible, but in those handful of words, about twenty-six questions pop into your mind.

Sam can see each and every question on your face. A sad smile comes on his face, and he says, “I’ll tell you some other time, but that’s who Lisa and Ben are.”

“So, demons hurt Lisa to get to Dean.”

“Yes.” Sam nods his head slightly with his eyes huge and sad.

“And Dean had Cas wipe Lisa and her son’s memories to keep them safe.”

“Yes,” Sam answers again.

“That’s what happened to me: _he_ hurt me to hurt you.”

Sam doesn’t answer, he just nods his head.

“So, Cas, he just wiped Dean from their minds, and they didn’t know who he was? That whole year with him was just gone? They wouldn’t recognize Dean if they saw him on the street?”

Sam shakes his head, and there’s a heart-breaking look on his face. “No.”

“And _that’s_ what you wanted Hannah to do to _me_?”

“ _Wanted_? No. Never,” Sam insists while shaking his head. “I just… What Dean said – what _he_ said, was that if we didn’t stop looking for him, and he caught us, he said he would… _hurt you_ again. _______, I had to stitch you up. I washed your body. You were bleeding on the bed next to me, covered in bruises, and scared of the sound of my breathing, and I didn’t… When _he_ hurt you to hurt me, I tried to think of how I could fix it, and the first thing that I thought of was Lisa and Ben. In the end, Dean kept them safe, and that’s what I wanted for you, and I swear, that’s as far as my thought process went with it – _I just wanted you safe._ I know it doesn’t make much sense, but when I called for Cas and Hannah, I wasn’t thinking about how Lisa and Ben… I didn’t think about how when Cas wiped Lisa and Ben’s memories, they didn’t know who Dean was or that he even existed afterward. All I thought about was after Cas did it, Lisa and Ben were safe, and all I wanted was you to be safe.”

You can see with every word Sam says, he’s getting more and more upset, and he keeps holding you tighter and tighter in his arms. You try to picture your life the way it was before the ghouls, before Sam and Dean, before the bunker, Men of Letters, lore books, rock salt, iron, and holy water. It’s almost impossible.

“When I heard you ask Cas about wiping my memories, I didn’t know who Lisa and Ben were. All I could think about was _another_ thing being _taken_ and another thing that I didn’t want was just going to be _done_ to me.”

“That’s kinda what I figured, but I would _never_ just do that to you.”

“Did Lisa and Ben have a choice?”

Sam shakes his head. “No; Dean made that call.”

Tears well in your eyes, but you blink them back and repeat, “I don’t want it. This is me saying ‘no.’ Okay?”

Sam kisses away your tears and forces his own to stay back. “Okay.”

“You promise? Sam, you have to promise me you aren’t going to _make that call_ too. I don’t want it, and I don’t need it.”

Sam holds you close to him like his arms can protect you from the world. “God, no.” He closes his eyes and kisses the top of your head. “I promise.” 


	16. Paint it Black: Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah came and brought you out of your mind, as well as took away all your fear and panic. You feel normal, almost better than before. Alone, you and Sam had a conversation that brought many things to light. Once again, you told Sam you didn’t want Hannah to take your memories. You made him promise he wouldn’t make that call, and he did.
> 
> Dean, Hannah, and Cas left you and Sam up in the library, so you could get your bearings, and this is what happens in the final chapter of _I See a Red Door_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, kids. _Paint it Black: Part 2_ takes place just before 10.4: _Paper Moon_. In _Supernatural_ , the time off that Sam and Dean take was very short, in _I See a Red Door_ , it was months. 
> 
> Throughout this whole fic, I’ve worked really hard to keep true to who Sam and Dean are as men and as hunters. I hope that trueness carries through to the very end. 
> 
> Once again, a HUGE thank-you to everyone who has stuck by me and this fic. Your tumblr and twitter messages, your kudos and comments kept me going. Thank you. 
> 
> A second and _immeasurably_ huge thank-you goes out to the lovely lady_ataralasse. Without her, I wouldn’t have ever thought of continuing _I See a Red Door_. She is a truly wonderful friend, and I am very lucky.

Having just left you and Sam alone in the library, Dean has no idea what’s going on. He saw Hannah touch your face, and it really was like all the fear and terror slipped away from you. When you woke up, you sounded like yourself. You looked like yourself – a little shaken with bruises on your cheek, shoulder, and elbow, but it was you. Dean, however, he _needs_ to know and see and find out for himself.

You’re supposed to pray to Hannah when you’re ready for her, Cas, and Dean to go back into the library with you and Sam. It’s been over twenty minutes, but you haven’t prayed. Dean is worried and confused, and Hannah is pissing him off - not a good combination for _any_ Winchester.

“So, let me make sure I got this straight,” he yells at Hannah, pacing along the edge of one of the big tables in the main room of the bunker. “______ let you in. She said ‘yes,’ and you didn’t just _shazam_ all this shit out of her head?” He throws his hands up in the air. “Why the hell not?”

Hannah is anything but confused, but she _is_ irritated with Dean. He’s asked her this very same question a dozen times now, and she’s sick of answering it over and over again. Since she’s been on Earth and traveling with Castiel, she’s learned that she must be patient with humans, manners should be used, and screaming at someone is not an appropriate form of communication. However, she’s quickly beginning to understand the human phrase, ‘I’m so mad my blood is boiling.’

Taking in a deep breath, Hannah looks at Dean and tries to speak in clear and concise words – the way she’s seen many humans talk to small children. “I did not _shazam_ anything away because _______ has told me _many times_ that she does not _want_ me to touch her memories.” When Hannah sees Dean roll his eyes, she looks to Castiel and asks, “Am I not saying it correctly?”

Hannah’s calm and condescending voice is pissing Dean off. “You friggin’ saw how she was! She was out of her mind with fear and so disoriented that she didn’t even know…” Dean’s voice cracks when he remembers you were convinced _he_ was the monster _._ Since he’s been back, you’ve been telling Sam and Dean and yourself that the monster that hurt you _wasn’t_ Dean. You’ve said over and over again that Dean would _never_ hurt you, but when you were scared and confused and honestly thought Dean wasn’t _Dean_ , it did _something_ to him. A little something _broke_ inside of Dean, but because _this_ isn’t about him – it’s about _you_ – he swallows the lump in his throat and presses on. “She _needs_ all this shit gone, and I _know_ you don’t need her permission!”

And that’s when Hannah loses it – patience and manners be damned. “I know _you’ve_ made that call to just _erase_ things from people’s memories – to take away a chunk of someone’s life, and take away the person that someone loves – but Dean, I’m not _you_!”

Dean knows Hannah’s talking about Lisa and Ben. His face turns bright red, and veins pop out of his forehead. To Hannah, he looks like he’s ready to tear her apart, but she doesn’t care. She’s an Angel of the Lord, and Dean Winchester is just a man. Hannah keeps going.

“Do you really think she needs _another_ thing _taken_ from her without her permission?! Do you really think it’s _wise_ to make her do something _else_ that she doesn’t want to do?! She let me look into her mind that night Sam called me to the heal her, and I saw _everything_! I saw _your_ face from _her_ view! I _felt_ every ounce of pain in her body – every cut, rip, tear, and bruise! I felt the pain her heart! EVERYTHING she felt _that night_ , I felt too, and I _will not_ take something else from her without her permission! _Am I making myself clear_?”

Castiel sees that Hannah’s fists are clenched at her sides, and it’s her turn for her face to change to a slight reddish-pink color. He also sees Dean’s face, and it looks like he’s just been slapped.

“That’s enough,” Cas says as he steps between Dean and Hannah because if Cas didn’t know any better, he’d say Hannah looks like she’s in a smiting mood. Cas turns to face Dean. “You understand why Hannah can’t just _take_ from ______, right?”

Dean feels like shit – _again_ … _still_ – but he gets it. He knows that Hannah’s right. Scrubbing his hand over his mouth and chin, he ignores the intense burning from The Mark and says, “Yeah; I get it… I just don’t want her to suffer, you know? She’s been through enough, and I can’t… I can’t _help_ her. I can’t _protect_ her from… _this_.”

“You want this for her because you feel guilt,” Cas says plainly.

“No! Well… Yeah, I _feel_ guilty, but that’s _not_ why I want Hannah to --”

“Dean,” Castiel interrupts. “You do know that it wasn’t _you_ who hurt her, don’t you?”

Dean sighs, but he doesn’t answer Cas’s question. “I just mean, she doesn’t deserve this. _____’s totally innocent, and she shouldn’t have to suffer like this. I don’t get why she wouldn’t want a fresh start. This isn’t a life for her or for _anyone_ , really. It’s not safe. She’s isolated, and… I know she seemed to be doin’ fine _before_ , but now… I mean _this_ … She couldn’t even _breathe,_ Cas. I’ve seen scared before, but today…I’ve _never_ seen someone _that_ _scared_ before.” _And it’s all **my** **fault**. _ “Why doesn’t she want a second chance? Why does she want…” Dean waves his hands around the room, gesturing to the books, the weapons bag in the corner, the angels standing just feet away, and then himself. “Why does she want all of… _this_?”

Cas opens his mouth to answer Dean’s question, but is interrupted when Hannah’s eyes look toward the direction of the library. “______’s praying to me.” And with a light rustle of feathers, she’s gone from the room.

After exchanging a glance, Cas and Dean take off on foot, without another word, through the twists and turns of the bunker’s hallways, toward the library. When they get inside, you and Hannah are standing together, talking in hushed tones, and Sam is sitting on the couch, just a few feet away from you, nervously chewing on his fingernails.

Everyone flinches when you yell, “I said ‘NO,’ Hannah! I _don’t_ _want_ _it_!”

Instantly, Sam’s up from the couch and is protectively standing by your side. He let you and Hannah have space when you prayed to her, but now that you’re getting upset again, Sam’s not letting anything slide.

“I don’t make a habit of it,” Hannah starts carefully while dodging bitch faces from Sam, “But I can _see_ the _real_ reason you won’t let me take _all_ the pain away.”

“Then you _know_ why I can’t do it.” You spit your words back to her.

“You have to know that the things you think about yourself – they aren’t true. You didn’t do this. It’s not your fault, and no matter what you do, you are _not_ weak.”

Both Dean’s and Sam’s faces fill with shock when they hear Hannah’s revelation. They’ve both known on some level that you’ve blamed yourself for the things that have happened, but hearing that Hannah’s seen your thoughts and that you actually think of yourself as weak, stuns them.

You see the looks on both Sam and Dean’s faces, and with a huff, you grab Hannah by her arm and lead her through a few stacks of books away from them.

“Okay, first of all,” you start in a hushed voice, so the brothers don’t hear you. “Stay the hell out of my head. Second of all, since you’ve _seen_ my thoughts, you should know _exactly_ why I _can’t_ do this. Sure, I’ve thought about it; I’ve weighed the pros and cons. I’d _love_ not to have to see the things that I see in my head every _single_ day, but the cons outweigh the pros, Hannah. I won’t do it, because if I did just let you ‘take it all away,’ I _am_ weak.”

 “Why?” Hannah looks at you, confused. “I don’t understand your emotions behind this. I don’t understand why you feel this way; human emotions are still so new to me.”

“I know you can see it too: the pain, the guilt, regret, and shame in both of their eyes. I see that every day, and it’s all my fault, because I _shouldn’t_ have been there. If I just have you _take it all away_ … Hannah, I’ll _lose_ them; I won’t know who they are. I could see them on the street, and I wouldn’t even recognize them… Dean…? _Sam…_?” Your voice cracks when you say Sam’s name, because you can’t imagine him not _there_. You love him, plain and simple, and you can’t lose him; you can’t _leave_ him. “I _can’t_ … I don’t want to… I _won’t_ leave them; I _won’t_ , not only because I love them both, but where will that leave _them_? I’ll be out there somewhere, not having a fucking clue, and they’ll be in here with _everything_. It’ll tear them up inside, and the shitty thing is, that’s the _best_ case scenario. The _worst_ case scenario is that I’m off somewhere, still without a damn clue, and this festers inside of them. Those two stupid men will do what they always do: shove all of _this_ down, and let it pile up and pile up until it doesn’t just tear them up inside, it tears _them_ apart. I can’t let that happen because it would be all my fault. I can’t do it – _I won’t_.”

“Why are you punishing yourself?” Hannah doesn’t understand. It doesn’t make sense to her. “You don’t deserve to be punished; you didn’t do _anything_ wrong.”

“They didn’t do anything wrong _either_!” You yell at Hannah. “But if I let myself be weak and let you _take it all away_ , it’ll ruin them because _they’ll_ be the ones stuck with it! This is _my_ life! I’ve thought about it! I don’t want something else! If _they_ have to carry it, then so do I! _This_ is what _I_ choose! _They’re_ what I choose!”

Hannah starts to say something, but you cut her off, “Look, it doesn’t matter! The point is, I’m not doing this, and you’re not _touching_ my memories! I’m saying for ninetieth time: I’ve considered it, but I don’t want it! I’m _not_ weak! I can handle this! I don’t need it taken away, and I’m fine!”

Your hushed conversation with Hannah quickly turns into you yelling at her, and both Sam and Dean hear every _single_ word you’re saying. Sam knows you took Hannah off into the stacks because you want some sort of privacy, and as much as he just wants to _be there_ for you, he tries to respect what you want. But Dean… Dean, he isn’t the same as Sam, and he hauls ass through the stacks.  

Once Dean finds you, he keeps his distance – just in case, but he says what’s on his mind, “You say you’re _fine_? Like hell you are!”

Just a blink after Dean storms through the rows and rows of bookshelves, Sam is there too, and he gets between you and Dean. He doesn’t say actually say anything to Dean, but the look on Sam’s face says it all: _Just back off._

Cas also walks up next Sam, and gives Dean a look. “Dean, be careful…”

Dean ignores them both and looks right at you. “I’m sayin’ this because no one else is: Sammy once told me that this isn’t about me and him, it’s about _you_ , and if you don’t want to do this, then we’ll back your play. We don’t want you to go. _I_ don’t want you to go, and I know Sam doesn’t either, but you have to make this decision for _you_ , not because you’re worried about us. Do whatever you’re gonna do for that girl who devoured every book she could in this library, who cleansing ritual’d the _hell_ out of a pair of Wellingtons, has a mean right hook, and _never_ gives up. You have to do it for _her_ , because _she’s_ not weak, _she’s_ one of the strongest, most well-adjusted people I know, and _that_ didn’t come from being in here. All that strength you have…” Dean points at his chest. “That’s all you, kiddo, and doing _this_ , it doesn’t take away from that; it doesn’t make you weak.”

Sam lets Dean say what he has to say, because that’s what Dean does. In the middle of it, Sam moves to your side. He doesn’t want to hover because he knows this is your decision. If you do change your mind, like Dean said, Sam will be there to back your play, but if you stick to your decision, he’ll also be there to stand by your side. ‘Whatever you need,’ Sam’s promised time and time again, ‘I’m here.’ As he stands next to you, he’s able to see on your face that you’re carefully considering each and every one of Dean’s words. It’s obvious you’re really listening to the things he’s saying, but it’s also _very_ obvious you’re not convinced.

Once Dean gets what he has to say off of his chest, you shake your head. “No. I’m sorry, but no. This is _one_ _little_ _thing_ – one _bad memory_ mixed in with thousands and _thousands_ of good ones. I’m not throwing all that away, because I _can_ get passed this – I _did_! I was good! I have one _little_ setback, and I’m supposed to just throw in the towel? I’m supposed to just quit? No, Dean. I’m sorry, but my answer is still ‘no.’ ”

Because he’s desperate and a little scared, _not_ because he’s angry with you, Dean yells, “This is not _one little thing_! This is --”

“Actually,” Hannah interrupts carefully, having to dodge more bitch faces from Sam, as well as from Dean, and looks of concern from Cas. “In comparison to everything, this one memory _is_ fairly small. It would actually take no time at all for me to extract the memory from that _one night_ and all the connected memories. If I did that, I wouldn’t have to take them all…just the bad ones.”

With Hannah’s words, your head snaps up, and you look at Sam with wide eyes. As you look at him, there’s a brief second where you almost say ‘yes,’ but you stop yourself before it can come out. You were telling the truth before: there _is_ a part of you that would love to have the mental images of a _thing_ that looks exactly like Dean – a man that you love like a brother, a man who helped save your life, a man whom you care about _so_ much – hitting you, slicing into you, and _hurting_ you over and over again. Sure, saying ‘yes,’ to Hannah would take those images out of _your_ mind, and you’d get to stay with Sam and Dean, but it doesn’t help them – they’d still have _all_ of it in their heads.

“No,” you answer again, because it’s still not right. “I’m sorry, I just can’t. Dean, I know you don’t get it, and you say I should make this decision for me and not for you and Sam. I get that, I really do…I just _can’t_. Dean opens his mouth to say something, but you cut him off, “I’ve thought this through; I’ve considered _every_ option. Try to look at it from my position: say I do this, I let Hannah take away just that _one single memory_ , and then what? I just walk around here, never knowing why you and Sam give me worried looks when I jump because your phone vibrates on the table? Or I get to sit here and wonder why both you and Sam have constant looks of guilt on your faces? How is _that_ going to make me any better? I won’t know, and I won’t understand. You and Sam are good liars – _professional_ even, but you’re not _that good_. You’d still know, and _I’d know_ there was something wrong.”

Dean knows there’s nothing he can say to that, and he can’t argue with your reasoning. The only thing left for him to say is, “I want this for _you_ , because I just don’t want _you_ to be afraid, and _you_ don’t deserve this. I don’t want you to do this for me or because it’ll make _my life_ easier. This has never been about me, because I’ve accepted the things I have to live with.”

As Dean speaks to you, you can feel Sam standing strong and supportive by your side. His hand is gently pressed into the middle of your back, and his thumb is making little, tiny circles. It’s his way of constantly saying, _Whatever you need, I’m here_. You look up at him for a minute. No words are exchanged, but you can tell just by the look on Sam’s face he’s by your side one hundred percent. Sam loves you, and he promised that if you ever got scared or needed some sort of reassurance, he’d bring you right back to that place in the hallway and do anything you needed to help you remember. Knowing that helps.

Dean stands in front of you, and it’s so obvious he’s being totally honest – probably more honest than you’ve seen him in a long time. You know he’s not trying to persuade you to do this because it’ll ease his conscious, because it won’t. Sure, he might find a little bit of relief knowing the memories of the things he still thinks he did, aren’t haunting you, but the grief, guilt, self-loathing, and remorse, those will all burn under Dean’s skin, _forever_ – Sam’s too.

When that realization sets into your brain, that Sam and Dean will feel this _forever_ – regardless of what you do – you remember what Hannah just said, and your mind jumps into a familiar question mode.

“So,” you direct your questions to Hannah, “You said you can, theoretically, go into someone’s mind, and take out bits and pieces. Like an event and all the memories linked to that event?”

“Yes,” Hannah confirms reluctantly, on guard for more bitch faces from Sam and Dean. “I can do that.”

“What about if there are good memories connected to the bad ones?”

“I’m an Angel of the Lord; I can separate them, and if there are gaps, I can fill them based on other similar memories.”

“And the person you do this to, they’d never know? They’d never remember what you did?”

“No,” Hannah answers. “They would remember whatever I told them to remember, or whichever memories I left behind.”

“And this won’t hurt you in any way? It won’t make you weak?”

Hannah shakes her head. “No. Angels have been expunging memories from humans since the beginning of time. One human or an entire country of humans makes no difference.”

Once you have your answers, you’re able to formulate a plan, and once that plan is quickly made inside your brain, a little smile curves on your lips. “Then, I’ll do it.”

“What?!” Both Sam and Dean simultaneously ask in the same shocked and surprised tone.

Looking between Sam and Dean, you explain, “Both of you have said that I need to make this decision for myself, based on what I need and what I want – what is going to make _me_ better. So, I’ll do it, but I have a condition.”

Immediately, Sam says, “Whatever you need.”

Then Dean tells you, “I already told you I’d back your play.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “If I do this… If I have Hannah take the memories of _that_ _night_ , and every memory of _it_ from then until right now…” You blow out that deep breath, knowing the seriousness of what you’re about to ask. “If I do it, then _both_ of you have to do it too.” Dean opens his mouth to object, but you raise a hand and stop him. “If it’s gone, then it has to be _gone_. Like I said, I can’t be here and wonder why you guys are treating me differently.” You look up at Sam. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but that’s my condition. It’s what I need.”

The look on Sam’s face is skeptical, but he’s always promised: ‘whatever you need.’ Sam has his own mental images that seem to come up whenever they feel like it. He saw _everything_ the monster inside his brother did to you. He saw _everything_ , with ropes tied around his wrists, just hanging there, helplessly, while you were brutalized right in front of him. He saw the fingerprint-shaped bruises on your skin, your busted-open lips and swollen-shut eyes, he saw you _bleeding_ on the bed next to him – Sam saw _it all._ He hates that the _thing_ that he watched hurt you looks like _his_ brother, and even though it’s not something Sam would typically ever do, he made a promise to you – a promise he intends to keep. There was a time where you did all that you could to help Sam. You’ve always trusted him and believed in him, and now he’s turning all that around and giving it back to you.

Sam nods his head and reassuringly squeezes your hand. “I’m in.”

You take a minute to look up at the amazing man by your side and give him a grateful smile. You know it’s a lot to ask. You wish you had time to sit down and talk with Sam about this instead of just springing it on him, but you know he understands; you can see it in his eyes that he does.

Still waiting for your second answer, you look back to Dean. “All or nothing.”

Dean’s quiet for a minute, and like they always seem to do, he and Sam share a silent conversation:

_Dean, I can see it on your face, but just think about it for a minute, will you?_

_Sam…_

_You said ______ needs to do this for her, and **this** is what she needs. You said you’d back her play. _

The air in the library is thick while you, Sam, and the two angels wait for Dean’s answer. Your heart pounds in your chest, and Sam holds you tight to his side, still trying to keep you safe and protect you from the answer he _knows_ Dean’s going to give.

 _Not **this** play, _Dean silently tells his brother, then shakes his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I _did_ _this_ , and I don’t deserve to forget.”

The second it’s not a possibility is the second you really realize how much you really wanted this for you and not _just_ for Sam and Dean. A tiny sob slips from your throat, but you swallow the rest of them back and force yourself to keep it together.

Very simply, but very seriously, you say, “Then this conversation is over, and I don’t want to have it again.”

When you let go of Sam’s hand and start to walk out of the library, Sam immediately understands. He knows you just need some air or a moment to yourself, and he gives it to you. However, he’s surprised when you stop in the doorway of the library, look back at Dean, and say, “How is it okay for me to get rid of all of this, if it’s not okay for you too?”

The look on Dean’s face is painful, and he answers, “Because _you_ don’t deserve this.”

“And what? _You_ do?” You ask Dean, shocked and maybe a little angry. “That’s bullshit, Dean, and you know it. The only difference between you and me is that _I_ was actually there that night, but _you_ – the _real_ you: the sarcastic bastard who makes fun of my music, my car, and my favorite movies, steals my food, and is like the brother I’ve never had –  _he_ wasn’t there. The Dean who is torturing himself _right now_ with shit he didn’t even do, _wasn’t_ _even there_ ; _he_ didn’t do _anything_ wrong. Those memories might be seared into your brain just like they are in mine and Sam’s, but it _wasn’t you_. _You_ didn’t…” You pause to force your tears away. You’ve never said _the word_ , and if there was ever a time, now would be it. “Dean, it wasn’t _you_ that raped me, and _you_ don’t deserve those awful memories any more than I do.”  

Sam, Dean, Hannah, and Cas all stand in silence while you walk out of the library.

-

After you leave the library, you walk in the direction of Sam’s bedroom, and you don’t look back.

_One foot in front of the other._

_Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth._

You work hard to keep the tears back, but in the end they just stream down your cheeks. Thankfully, you’ve made the trek from Sam’s bedroom to the library countless times, and you don’t need to see where you’re going.

When you’ve made it to Sam’s bedroom, _the smell_ still lingers faintly in the air, the blankets and pillows are tangled up in themselves, and Sam’s clothes are still in a pile on the floor. When a flash of a feeling from what happened just hours before plays in your heart, you gasp at the suddenness and fear, but as soon as it’s there, you push it away.

“No,” you say in a shaky voice and hiccup through another sob.

It sounds weak – _you_ sound weak, so you swallow your tears and try again. “No.”

It’s better, but the corner of Sam’s bedroom looks like a perfect place to bury yourself in, and your chest starts to feel heavy again. “ _No_ ,” you tell your shaky hands, and your tears. “You’re safe.” You reassure the scared part of you that just wants to hide, and you breathe.

It works.

You stop shaking, the tears stop, and you can breathe easily again, so you pull a clean set of sheets out of Sam’s closet and start changing the bedding. It takes a little while longer than it usually would because of your bruised elbow and shoulder, but eventually the clean sheets and pillowcases are put on the bed while the previous set are just tossed out into the hallway to deal with later.

Once the fresh sheets are on the bed, you breathe deeply, in and out, because you can. From one of your drawers in Sam’s dresser, you grab a clean pair of your pants, some under-clothes, fresh socks, and a tank top. You figure the tank top will be easier to put on than one of Sam’s shirts, considering how sore your right arm is, and you walk down the hall to take a shower.

When the sweat and tears have been washed away, and you’re dressed in clean clothes, you walk back down the empty hallway – one foot in front of the other – to Sam’s bedroom. Inside, you find him sitting on his bed with his head resting back on the wall, eyes closed, but he opens his eyes when you walk through the door.  

“You okay?” Sam asks with his eyes full of concern when you sit down next to him. He saw the look on your face when you decided what you wanted and when Dean said ‘no.’ He watched you blink back your tears and swallow your sobs. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried about you.

“I think so,” you answer honestly. It’s obvious Sam’s a little hesitant to slide closer to you, so you move yourself closer to him. “Are _you_ okay?”

Sam nods his head and wraps his arm around you, careful of your shoulder. “I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it again, but you know that just because Dean doesn’t want to do it, doesn’t mean you can’t. I could tell something changed for you, and a part of you _wanted_ Hannah to take those memories away. _If_ that’s something you still want, you could still do it. I know it’s not exactly how you wanted it, but if it’ll make you feel better, I’d still do it too.”

Your eyes and nose burn when yet another round of tears fills your eyes, and even though what Sam just said _is_ what you want, you know if it’s going to be gone, it has to _be gone_. You shake your head and lean into Sam.

“You and Dean… That’s not how the two of you work. Every day you would see the looks on Dean’s face, and you would know something was wrong. Dean being who he is, he would lie through his teeth and come up with ninety-nine different ways to say, ‘I’m fine.’ It would be _yet_ _another_ secret between the two of you. I can’t ask you to do that, and I can’t do it by myself because it’ll be the same way between you and me. You’ll have to keep this… _secret_ , and I’ll know you’re hiding something. I’ll see it on your face, and I’ll see it on Dean’s too. It won’t work.”

Knowing that you’re right, Sam doesn’t say anything. You might not be _gone_ like in his dream that he had the first night in the shack in the woods, because, sure, you’re right next to him, but having heard how you’ve really thought everything through, in a way, feels worse. You’ve considered Sam and Dean’s relationship before your own happiness, and you’ve considered how keeping a secret from you, such as this, would weigh heavily on Sam. By doing those two things, and basing your decision on how it would affect not only you, but Sam and Dean as well – you’re sacrificing yourself _for them_. So many people have done that for both Sam and Dean; it’s something the people that they love _always_ seem to do.

For a while, you and Sam sit quietly together. Because it was an early morning and an emotionally taxing day, both you and he sleep off and on with your head resting in Sam’s lap, and Sam’s head back against the wall. When he’s awake, he gently runs his fingers up and down your back and watches you sleep.

He can’t stop staring at the bruises already showing on your face, shoulder, and elbow, and he winces when the sound of your body connecting with concrete, plays in his mind. He wishes there was something he could do, wishes he could take this away for you, but he can’t; this is your choice – not his.

As you lay in Sam’s arms, he runs his fingers gently through your hair, then lightly touches your cheek, and your collar bone, but because he knows you like it, his fingers always return to your back. After a little while, when his fingertips go anywhere near your shoulder, he feels your whole body tense up, and you just barely whimper at the pain. Carefully, Sam stands up from the bed, bends down to kiss you, and says, “I’m gonna go get you some ice and aspirin. Do you want anything else?”

Too tired to answer him in a verbal way, you shake your head, kiss Sam when he gently kisses you again, and watch him walk out his bedroom door.

-

After Cas and Hannah leave, Dean closes the bunker door behind them and immediately goes into the kitchen. Unfortunately, he finished his bottle of bourbon earlier in the day, and since he never made it out to replenish his stock, there isn’t any more bourbon. There is, however, a bottle of your José-in-Margarita in the fridge. He picks up the jug, looks at the lime green liquid, takes a pull straight from the bottle, and immediately puts it back in the fridge. On any other day, he’d probably fill up a glass, or better yet a coffee mug, so he could be inconspicuous about it – the girly-shit is surprisingly not that bad, but not today. After everything, it just doesn’t feel right.

Because he told you ‘no,’ Dean feels like the biggest asshole in the world, and if the intense heat coming from the The Mark on the inside of his arm is any indication, The Mark agrees. Like always, it feels like it’s taunting Dean, reminding him _constantly_ all the time of the horrible things he’s done since receiving The Mark, and how none of it will _ever_ go away.

Dean walks back to his bedroom, and as he looks at the rumpled pile of white sheets next to Sam’s closed bedroom door, a new feeling builds inside him. The Mark aches on his arm, it burns so much that Dean reaches out to rub it, but when he does, the pain makes him wince and grit his teeth. It feels like The Mark has won. It feels like The Mark has taken away any sliver of good that Dean and his brother have ever had, and it feels like it’s taken _everything_ away from you.

Once inside his bedroom, Dean kicks aside a stack of books he’s been scrupulously looking over for weeks, looking for any information on The Mark of Cain. He’s practically got the shit memorized, and it all basically says the same thing: ‘Dean Winchester, you’re fucked.’

For a long time, Dean sits on his bed with your plastic mixtape in his hands, and he doesn’t move. Part of him feels like he doesn’t even deserve to touch it with his filthy hands – hands that _hurt_ you, hands covered in blood that will _never_ wash clean, regardless of how many Lady MacBeth moments he has. But it’s the things that you said to Dean in the library, the _good_ things, things that, after _everything_ , you were _still_ able to say to him, even though he _took_ away your chance to have your horrors erased. Along with the mixtape, Dean holds tight to the words you said to him, and he thinks he might be going crazy, because in the back of his mind it’s like he can hear The Mark laughing at him. It still taunts him, and tells him that he doesn’t deserve _anything_ good. But then again, maybe it’s _not_ The Mark doing those things? _Maybe_ it’s _him_ doing them to himself?

The sound of Sasquatch footsteps in the hallway yanks Dean out of his own mind. He doesn’t know why he does it, because there’s no way he could ever apologize for what he’s done, but once Sam’s footsteps can no longer be heard, Dean steps out into the hallway. There’s just a few steps between his room and Sam’s, and when he gets to Sam’s opened-just-a-crack bedroom door, Dean can see you curled up on Sam’s bed.

In your tank top, your right elbow and shoulder are in plain view, and Dean’s throat feels tight when he sees the reddish-purple bruises on your skin. He clears his throat before he realizes what he’s doing and freezes when you push yourself up on the bed and look up at him.

Neither he, nor you, say a word.

After pushing the door the rest of the way open with the tips of his fingers, Dean sees the dark circles under your eyes, along with the bruise on your cheek. Your skin is pale, and you look exhausted. As he stands in Sam’s doorway, there’s a second where Dean sees you start to wring your hands, but you stop yourself and rest them on top of the bed.

As Dean stands just a few feet in front of you, you see that his face is more drawn than usual. The dark circles and sleep wrinkles under his eyes rival your own, and he looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks - probably hasn’t. He’s got your mixtape clenched in his hand, and you know that mixtape was a turning point for you and Dean. It was the first stitch that actually held when things started to come back together, and you get why Dean’s got it in his hands: when he touches it, he thinks he’s still able to touch a little bit of good.

Immediately, the thought makes you start to cry. Dean _is_ good; he _deserves_ good. He doesn’t _deserve_ to remember the horrible things that he does, or feel guilt over things he _didn’t_ _even_ _do_. Your tears are partly for Dean, partly for Sam, and partly for you, and you pull your legs up to your chest so your sobs go into your knees.

Not knowing what to do, Dean looks down the hall, hoping that Sam is somewhere close by, but the hallway is empty. If everything weren’t so fucked up, and Dean wasn’t afraid everything from this morning would start all over again, he’d try to comfort you. But everything _is_ fucked up, and he doesn’t move from his spot in the doorway.

“It’s not fair,” you manage to get out through your sobs.

There are literally _dozens_ of things you could be referring to that aren’t fair, and Dean knows it. The only reply he can muster is, “I’m so sorry.”

You don’t answer him, just tuck your face further into your knees and continue to cry. After a particularly heavy sob, Dean sees you reach for your shoulder in pain. He can’t stand to see you hurt anymore, so he sits next to you on Sam’s bed. You don’t jump away from him, so he carefully rubs your back to try to soothe you and is surprised when you turn and sob into his shoulder.

“Don’t cry,” Dean tells you as he wraps one arm around your good shoulder. He’s shocked when you lean into him further, and he takes you completely in his arms.

Between random ‘ _I’m so sorry_ ’s, ‘ _Please, don’t cry_ ’s, and ‘ _Sammy’ll be back soon_ ’s, Dean thinks about how after everything he’s done, after everything that’s happened in the last few hours, you’re still leaning on _his_ shoulder, crying your heart out, just like the very first time he saw you in the back of your ugly, canary-yellow Beetle in the garage. Dean just went down there to get a wrench for a leaky pipe in the kitchen, and he found sobbing in your car. You didn’t really know him - Dean didn’t really give you a chance to let you get to know him, but you still trusted him enough and felt safe enough to let him comfort you. You’re doing that right now, like nothing ever happened.

Dean has you in his arms, and he realizes, _you trust him_ ; after _everything_ , you _actually_ trust him.

“Did you mean what you said before?” Dean asks as softly as he can. “About how you honestly think it wasn’t me?” He’s never realized before how much he needs to hear you say it, because _maybe_ …just _maybe,_ if _you_ believe it, so can _he_.

You’ve never doubted the man Dean is, not once. Through a fresh bout of tears, you nod your head. “I _know_ it wasn’t you; you would _never_ hurt me, and you would _never_ hurt Sam.”

Dean’s own tears fall down his cheeks, because he just can’t wrap his head around your loyalty, your trust, and how certain you are in your opinion that he really is the man _you_ believe him to be. You have conviction, and you always have. “You could never be weak, kiddo. You’re stronger than I’ll ever be.”

_How is it okay for **me** to get rid of all of this, if it’s not okay for **you** too?_

_Because **you** don’t deserve this._

_And what? **You** do? That’s bullshit, Dean, and you know it. The only difference between you and me is that I was actually there that night, but **you** – the **real** you: the sarcastic bastard who makes fun of my music, my car, and my favorite movies, steals my food, and is like the brother I’ve never had –  **he** wasn’t there. The Dean who is torturing himself **right** now with shit he didn’t even do, **wasn’t even there** ; **he** didn’t do **anything** wrong. Those memories might be seared into your brain just like they are in mine and Sam’s, but **it** **wasn’t you**. **You** didn’t… Dean, it wasn’t **you** that raped me, and **you** don’t deserve those awful memories any more than I do._

Dean repeats the tiny conversation over and over in his head, and he can still hear the desperation and frustration in your voice, and how much you really wanted him to believe you was very evident in your tone.

The blackness that Dean’s kept at bay is still strong under his skin – it has been since the second he touched The First Blade. The Mark still scorches and scalds his skin, making itself known and mocking him every chance it gets, but behind all that, there’s another piece of Dean. There’s a part of himself that he hasn’t let The Mark or the blackness touch. Dean’s kept this part of himself hidden away, partly because he thinks this _tiny_ piece left inside himself is the one good thing left, and partly because Dean thinks he doesn’t deserve anything good. This remaining _good_ part of Dean is strong; it’s a warrior. This tiny part of the _real_ Dean Winchester climbs out and fiercely silences the blackness and The Mark just long enough for him to have a clear thought and really understand your words. He still might not agree with you one hundred percent, but soon, that won’t matter.

“I’ll do it,” Dean says softly into the top of your head.

Shocked, you look up at Dean. “You will?”

He nods his head and kisses your hair. “Pray to Hannah, and I’ll send a text to Sammy to let him know to let her inside.”

Still in shock you gape up at Dean. “Are you sure? You don’t have to…”

Dean knows he doesn’t have to, but he’s doing it anyway. Sure, he’s doing it for you, but there’s still that little part of him that makes him do it for himself too. That little piece left of the _real_ Dean Winchester is so small behind the blackness that is so strong inside him, but that little part of Dean actually _wants_ this.

“I’m sure,” Dean answers. “Close your eyes and pray to Hannah.”

He puts his hand on the back of your head when you rest it between his shoulder and neck. The Mark is ablaze, sizzling and searing on his skin while you quietly pray to Hannah. His stomach gnashes and gnaws like it never has before, and the blackness screams under his skin, screams that he doesn’t deserve this, that he doesn’t deserve to forget. Dean shuts out everything and focuses on your quiet prayer.

“Hannah, please come.”

-

In the main room of the bunker, Sam and Dean stand protectively at either one of your sides, while Hannah stands before the three of you.

“All of you are sure this is what you want?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately.

Sam also says, “Yes.”

Dean keeps quiet for a second, and both you and Sam look over at him. Your heart pounds in your chest, and just when you think he might back out, he gives you a little half-smile and nods his head. “Yeah; I’m sure.”

Hannah also nods her head. “The memory of… _the event_ , and every single memory connected to it will be gone.” Once that is said, she looks at you and Sam. “I know that there are memories and experiences connected to _the event_ that the two of you would like to keep. The details may differ slightly, but you have my word: you _will_ keep them. As far as everything else, Dean was found and brought back here. Sam cured him, and the three of you have been here ever since – you will not remember me doing this or me being here. Also, because of the amount memories are connected to this one event, you will all feel disorientated after - I believe the term is called, ‘hung-over.’ After I leave, the three of you will immediately feel the need to go to sleep, because the only thing that will help you is rest. Judging by how tired the three of you look, I think I can assume a solid eight hours of sleep will be in your best interest.”

The three of you nod with hearts still pounding. Both Sam and Dean, and you understand that only the painful memories will be gone, but _all_ the good will remain. All it’ll take is one touch from Hannah, a good night’s sleep, and all three of you will wake up and not remember one _single_ detail from that horrible night.

Both you and Sam watch as Hannah steps in front of Dean. Her blue eyes are so kind. “I know I was hard on you, and for that I’m sorry. The things that ______ said, I believe she is right: you _don’t_ deserve this, and I think you’re making the right decision.”

Hannah touches Dean’s forehead first. His eyes flicker closed. For a moment you and Sam hold your breaths while Hannah wipes clean the horrible memories of _that night_ , and when Dean’s eyes open back up, he looks over toward you and Sam.

Then, Hannah steps in front of you and touches your forehead. Before your eyes flutter closed, you catch one last glimpse of Dean, and you see his smile. For the briefest of seconds, it looks sad, but then Hannah’s in your mind, things feel different, your shoulder, cheek, and elbow no longer ache or feel bruised, your chest feels lighter, and when you open your eyes back up, it’s Hannah’s kind blue eyes looking into yours. You feel a little light-headed, maybe a touch disoriented and tired, but somehow you know that’s to be expected. You see Dean at your left, Sam at your right, and nothing else matters. As long as both of them are at your side, you know you’re safe.

Just like in his nightmare, Sam sees Hannah touch your forehead. Even though it was _just_ a dream, Sam’s still got that part of him that thinks the worst, but all that’s gone when Hannah takes her hand away from your forehead: you turn to look at him and actually smile. Sam doesn’t even look at Hannah when her careful fingers reach up to touch his forehead, he just keeps his eyes on you as long as he can, until his eyes fall closed. Just a second later, Sam is able to return the same smile as you, and then Hannah walks out of the bunker like she was never there.

-

The next day, you and Sam sleepily stumble out of bed and follow the scent of coffee in the air. The scent leads both you and Sam to Dean. He’s dressed in boots, jeans, black tee shirt, and a black button up flannel shirt – apparently ready for the day. There’s a huge styrofoam cup of coffee on the table next to an equally huge plastic Gas ‘n Sip container of pie that’s half-eaten. There’s also a handful of maps spread open, next to a bunch of weapons and gear bags. In addition to that, Dean’s got a glass of whiskey in one hand and his phone in the other. He’s talking to someone.

“Yup, just checkin’ in, Louie. Wendigos are nasty bitches. Take care’a that arm and keep on the mend. … Will do. Call me or Sammy if you need anything. We’ll be in Washington, but we’ll pick up. … Yup; you too. … Bye.”

Dean shoves his phone in his pocket, looks at you and Sam, and smirks. “Nice hair. Didya sleep good?”

Still half-asleep, but awake enough to notice that Dean quickly pulls the cuff of his black shirt over The Mark on the inside of his arm, Sam ignores his brother’s question. “Uh, we’re going to Washington? That werewolf case you were talkin’ about? I thought you said Ray and Louie were gonna take care of that?”

“Louie’s arm got busted to shit workin’ that Wendigo case up in Minnesota, and he’s takin’ a knee for a little while. I can’t get ahold of any other hunters, and the case just can’t sit. There’s been three kills in the last four weeks.”

When Sam hurls Dean an impatient, bitch face of epic proportions, you know that’s your cue to leave them alone – this is Winchester business. “I’m going to find some breakfast. You guys want anything?”

“Coffee, please,” Sam answers with a sleepy smile.

“I got pie. Thanks, Short Stack.”

When you’re out of the room, Sam asks, “When did you have time to go to the store? What time did you get up?”

“Uhhh.” Dean checks his watch. “I don’t know. Early? A while ago? Anyway, I picked up some chatter on the Durham PD’s radio, and there was another attack. If you wouldn’t have been awake after I got off the phone with Louie, I was gonna wake your ass up.”

“Dean… Cas said… The Mark. We gotta --”

“Look, man, I’m golden. Us taking some ‘We Time,’ it was an awesome idea, but I can’t sit in here anymore. I need to work. I _need_ this.”

Sam gives Dean an unconvinced look, but Dean doesn’t fold. Sam’s seen his brother like this before, and he knows he’s not going to win this discussion. He sighs in defeat. “If this goes sideways… I mean, like, _an_ _inch_ , you gotta give me the heads-up.

“Done,” Dean agrees immediately. “You got my word.”

With two cups of coffee in your hands, you walk out of the kitchen and to Sam’s side. “You guys are leaving?”

Sam takes his coffee from you and nods his head. “Yeah; I gotta go pack.”

Dean pulls Sam’s leather bag up from the floor. “Already done. Get in the shower, Francis. The quicker we leave, the quicker we can get back.”

Out of nowhere, you ask, “Can I come? I mean, can I just ride with? I’ll stay in the room, and I can --”

Dean cuts you off with a quick and rough. “NO!”

You flinch at Dean’s tone, and then both you and Sam stare at Dean.

“ _Wow_ ,” you answer, shocked that Dean snapped at you. “Ooo-kay… Sorry I asked.”

“I didn’t mean…” Dean sighs, clearly disgusted with himself. “Short Stack, I’m sorry.”

You look up at Dean. It’s been a long time since he’s yelled at you. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. Just tired. Seriously, I didn’t mean to… It’s just not safe, okay?”

“Yeah, no, it’s fine. I’ll stay here like I always do.” You shrug, knowing it was a long shot that Dean would actually let you go with them. “I’m gonna go get dressed.”

Sam gently grabs your hand before you turn to go down the hallway. “I’ll be down there in a minute, okay?” After you nod your head and leave the room, Sam looks at his brother. “Jesus, Dean… Did you have to bite her head off?”

“Oh, like you want her comin’ with us?”

“Well, no, but you didn’t have to be a dick about it. What the hell’s wrong with you anyway? Maybe I should drive there, so your ass can get some sleep.”

“I’m fine.

Sam’s not convinced. “Right; you’re _fine_.”

“I am!” Dean insists while shooting the last of his whiskey.

“ _Fine_. I’m gonna go shower and get dressed. Leave in like a half an hour?”

“We can wait an hour. You and ______ have time to do whatever it is that you two nerdy kids do.”

Just as Dean finishes talking, you peak your head around the corner. “Oh my God, Dean. Shut up,” you tease. Sam smirks at you and adds an eye roll directed at his brother for good measure. “I forgot to ask you, is my car good to go? Fluids are filled and hoses are… _hosed_?”

Standing next to you, Sam chuckles to himself at your terminology.

Now, it’s Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Didn’t I teach you anything?”

“You know what I mean,” you laugh your words.

With a sigh of pretend-defeat, Dean nods his head. “Yes, all the hoses are… _hosed.”_

“So, I can drive it? Ringo’s in one piece?”

“As close as that death trap’s ever gonna get.”

“Deeeeeeean…”

Laughing at the face you make while you whine, Dean tells you, “Yes, you can drive it. Where are you gonna go anyway?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “But I’m not staying cooped up in here the whole time you two are gone.”

“Fiiine. Yes, Ringo is good to go. Now, let Sammy get ready. Bus leaves in an hour, sweetheart.”

Dean watches Sam put his arm around your shoulder and walk you out of the room. A “Put me down!” travels down the hallway, mixed with a little yelp and laughter, and Dean can only assume Sam picked you up and tossed you over his shoulder. Dean laughs just a little bit too.  

He’s got his bags packed. Sam’s too. They’re ready to go.

Werewolf hunt in Washington.

First hunt. First time back at it.

‘We time’ is over.

Shoving some of the case notes from Louie into his bag, Dean thinks about how he _needs_ this hunt; he _needs_ to work. Being holed up in the bunker, all this time – taking a step back – it was the right call. All three of you needed a little R &R, but now it’s time for Sam and Dean to get back in the saddle.

They have a job to do.

A hunt’s just landed in Dean’s lap. A werewolf – a _gravy_ hunt, and there’s no one else to take it. They’ll go to Washington, gank the furry bitch, head back home, and chalk it up to a good day.

It’s a _gravy_ hunt.

Just a milk run.

They have to go. Dean can’t let it slide, and he knows Sam can’t either.

Things are good now. You’re good. Dean’s good. Sam’s good. Dean’s ready for this – ready to hunt, and so is Sam.

“I’m fine,” Dean whispers to himself.

He’s a professional when it comes to lying his ass off to everyone else, but Dean’ll _never_ be able to lie to himself.

 _Bus leaves in an hour, **sweetheart**. _ Dean checks his watch.

“I’m fine,” he tells himself again, and his voice shakes.

He’s _not_ fine, and a flashback plays in his mind.

_“Oh, but I am, **sweetheart**. Gonna fuck you raw, and you’ll love it. I promise.” _

_Dean watched you desperately fight against your ropes, screaming, ‘NO!’ but he just laughed – he **loved** it. “You do this, and I’ll let you and Sammy go, IF you promise you’ll never come after me again.”_

_Your chest heaved with rapid breaths. You were trying to keep yourself calm. “I let you fuck me, and you’ll let us go? Just like that? Right…”_

_He could tell you were trying to be brave – be strong, but Dean could see right through you. He always could. “Let? Oh, honey, I’m going to fuck your pussy twelve ways from Sunday either way, but it’s all up to you how messy it gets. You take my cock like a good girl, and I’ll let you go, but if you don’t, I’ll **make** you take it, and I guarantee it’ll end bloody for BOTH you and Sam. So, what’s it gonna be?”_

_Dean could hear his brother protesting wildly from behind the gag in his mouth, hanging from the ceiling by ropes, wrists twisted and pinched painfully, shoulders straining from his own weight. Dean watched you look over at Sam and see all of that, and the minute you did, you’d already made up your mind. Dean knew you loved Sam just as much as Sam loved you, and there was no way you’d ever let Sam get hurt. No way._

_Just like he knew you would, you tried to put on a brave face, but failed. “It’s going to be okay,” you told Sam, then looked back at Dean. He could see the fire in your eyes, and he loved it. “I can’t make that promise for Sam. I can’t make him stop trying to save you. You know I can’t.”_

_Dean chuckled because you were always a smart one. “True.”_

_Still with the brave face, you asked, “Am I gonna live through this?”_

_Dean got in real close to your face, so he could smell your fear, your sweat, and your breath. He loved how your eyes widened in fear. “I just want on little taste, sweetheart. You don’t fight, you don’t get hurt…much. And after, you and Sammy can go… Unless you’re a slut for my cock, then maybe, I’ll let you stay with me?”_

Just as you shake your head ‘no’ in Dean’s memory, Dean is able to shake the memory away.

“No.” His quiet word bounces off the high ceilings of the bunker until it echoes itself into nothing.

Dean wishes he could do the same.

“_______’s good. Sammy’s good. _You’re_ good,” Dean tells himself aloud in a voice he has to fight to keep steady. “You’re good. You can do this. You can handle this. You’re ready to hunt. You _need_ this. You’re _ready._ You’re _fine._ ”

Of course, there’s always the off chance that Dean’s _not_ ready to hunt, but he’s still Dean. He’s just trying to do the right thing, because he’s _so_ damn sick of doing the wrong one.

A bang on the bunker door and a text vibration in his pocket, yanks Dean out of the thoughts and memories he’s not even supposed to have. He puts his game face on, hides his secret, and looks at the message.

            **Cas: Could you please let me inside? :)**

Regardless of everything, Dean laughs to himself about Cas’s use of emoticons and jogs up the stairs to let Cas inside.

When he sees that Hannah is not with Cas, Dean asks, “How the hell did you get here?”

“I drove. I do that now. I have a car.”

“That’s right. ’78 Lincoln Continental. Sweet ride.”

Cas shrugs. “I like it.”

Dean leads the way back to the table and takes a drink of his whiskey.

“You and Sam are going on a hunt.” Cas isn’t asking; he’s stating a fact. It’s pretty obvious with the bags and maps packed and ready to go.

“Yeah; werewolf up in Washington. There’s no one else to take the case, so Sammy and I gotta go.”

Cas doesn’t say anything regarding the case or Dean’s choice to work it, but he does look at Dean skeptically. “I spoke with Hannah.”

Dean busies himself with some case notes on the table. “And?”

Cas continues to eyeball Dean, and Dean lets him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Cas’s head tilt to the left and then to the right, his bright-blue eyes full of question and trying to look into Dean’s. Dean sees the exact moment when Cas finds the answer to his question, and the angel’s face drops. “I don’t understand. Hannah told me --”

Dean frowns and sighs heavily. _So much for keepin’ this a secret._ “Yeah; well, she told me too.”

“This doesn’t make sense. Hannah _told_ me she…” Cas looks around the bunker for you and Sam.

“You’re fine; Sam and ______ are down in Sam’s room. Hannah angel mojo’d their minds and took all the… _shit_ away.”

“But not your… _shit_.”

“Guess not.” In spite of the situation, Dean has to chuckle, because an Angel of the Lord, just said ‘shit.’

“Hannah would _never_ lie,” Cas insists.

“Don’t think she did.” Dean pulls a bottle of whiskey out of his bag and fills his glass to the brim. “Closest thing I can figure…” He rolls up the sleeve of his black shirt and presses his palm into The Mark that has been searing hot on his skin since you and Sam stumbled off to bed after Hannah left. “This _bad boy_ trumps angel mojo. It didn’t let me die, so I can only guess it’s protectin’ me somehow.”

Cas’s eyebrows knit. “I suppose it is possible.”

“Well, whatever it was, _this_ is it. Their shit’s gone, and I got work to do.”

Dean tries to walk away, but Cas cuts off his path. “Are you ever going to tell them?”

“Tell them what? That when The Mark fucked me up, I hung her and Sammy from the ceiling of shitty little shanty in the woods, raped and tortured ________, then our friendly, neighborhood angel came and white-washed it all, only it didn’t work on me? Yeah, like that’s gonna help anything.”

“Dean, you and Sam have been down this exact same road before. No good comes from lies between the two of you. This _lie_ is on the same scale as Gadree --”

“Don’t,” Dean growls, knowing that the angel is right. Dean’s been thinking it all morning, and he can’t hear Cas say it aloud.

“You have no idea what this will do to them _when_ they find out. ______ was reluctant to do this to begin with, and you know she did it mostly for you. When she finds out – when _Sam_ finds out – it will be so much worse.”

“Then she won’t find out! Neither of them will! I’m not gonna tell them, Hannah apparently doesn’t even know, and you’re sure as hell not gonna to tell them!”

“They both look up to you! Both ______ and Sam trust you, they love you, they look to you for protection, and when they find out, it will crush them! You know it will!”

Frowning, Dean runs his hand over his stubbly chin and sighs as he plops down in a chair. “Is there anything that can un-white-wash their memories?”

“Anything that can undo angel magic?” Castiel takes a moment to think, then shakes his head. “Not that I am aware of, but you _of all people_ should know that things _always_ have a way of coming to light.”

Dean jumps up from his chair, making his too-full whiskey glass spill over onto his case notes. “Too bad! _This_? It’s forever; it has to be! I’ll keep this for them! It was wrecking her! It was wrecking _them_! It was too much!”

“Too much for whom? You? Or them?”

“Them,” Dean answers in a dark whisper.

“Dean Winchester…” Cas sighs Dean’s name. “Sacrificing himself, playing the martyr, like there is no repercussion. Dean, in what way will this wreck you? Carrying this on your soul…”

“Don’t matter. It’s done, and unless _you_ want to open those flood gates and let it all back out, it’s over.”

Both Cas and Dean immediately stop arguing and turn to look up at you and Sam as the two of you walk into the room. They see you look up at Sam with a smile on your face, whispering something to him. Sam shamelessly flashes his dimples at you, while gently rubbing your shoulders down to the insides of your elbows with his hands. Neither angel nor hunter are able to see any of the ‘old pain’ in yours or Sam’s eyes, and the two of you actually look happy.

Dean grumbles to Cas just quiet enough for only him to hear, “If you’ve got it in you to take _that_ away from them, be my guest, but you’ll have to do it over my dead body.”

With a sigh, Cas nods at you and Sam and turns to leave to walk up the stairs to leave the bunker.

Both you and Sam watch the angel’s quick exit with puzzled looks on your faces.

“Where’d Cas have to go in such a hurry?” Sam wonders.

Dean simply shrugs and sits down in his chair. His game face is back – one hundred and ten percent. “He said somethin’ about more rogue angels that he and Hannah have to take care of. He said he’d call.”

“Well, I’m ready to head out when you are,” Sam tells Dean as he slings his laptop bag over his shoulder.

“I’ve already got most of the crap in the car. You wanna run the rest out? Then we’ll go.”

Sam nods his head and looks at you. “You gonna be okay while we’re gone?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been here by myself; I’ll be fine.”

“I know, it’s just…Dean and I’ll be pretty far away. If you need something, we won’t be able to get here right away.”

“What am I going to need you guys for? Dean fixed my car. If I need something, I’ll go get it. I’ll be fine, and _yes_ , I’ll leave the guns alone.”

“Suppose you’re right,” Sam says and smirks at your comment about the guns.

“How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

Dean answers you question for Sam. “Couple days. It’s just a werewolf. It’ll be like a milk run.”

“Right,” Sam scoffs. “Because that happens…never.”

Dean chuckles. “C’mon, Sammy; get a move on. We’re burnin’ day light.”

After rolling his eyes as his brother, Sam gives you a kiss. “I’ll call you when we get there, okay?”

“You better.”

Tossing a grin over his shoulder, Sam grabs the bags from the top of the table and jogs up the stairs. When the door closes behind him, you walk over to the table and sit down next to Dean.

“Dean?”

 _Lock it up_ , Dean tells himself, but he can’t, so he keeps staring at his case notes, and mumbles, “Yeah?”

“Sorry about before; I shouldn’t have asked to come with. I know I went on the road with Sam before, but I know that doesn’t make me a hunter. I know I’m _not_ a hunter.”

Dean flinches at your familiar choice of words, but forces himself to not let it show on his face. He’s already snapped at you once, and he can’t let any more of what he’s hiding show. Not responding to what you’ve just said, Dean shoves the rest of his notes in his bag.

You’re watching Dean basically blow you off, and you’re confused. “You mad at me or something?”

Focusing only on the zipper of his bag, Dean closes it and answers, “Nope.”

When Dean _still_ doesn’t look up at you, you playfully punch him in the shoulder. Finally, Dean looks up at you and can’t help but chuckle just a little bit. He moves to punch you back, but at the last second stops himself inches before your shoulder and goes back to messing with his bags. He forces a memory of the last time _he_ punched you out of his head.

“What is wrong with you?” You ask. “You’re being weird this morning. Is it because of me and Sam?”

Giving himself a minute to think, Dean shoves a bite of his pie into his mouth. “I’m bein’ _weird_?”

“Yes! You’re being weird!”

When Dean doesn’t respond the way you want him to, you reach over and steal his plastic container of pie.

He still doesn’t react.

“SEE! The _old_ Dean would have gotten feisty with me about stealing his pie. The _old_ Dean would have made gagging noises when he saw Sam kissing me. The _old_ Dean would have been giving Sam shit about bangin’ his ‘partner in crime.’ The _old_ Dean would friggin’ punch me back when I punched him. _What_ is _wrong_ with you?”

Dean knows your biggest worry has just started: you can tell he has a secret. You’re sitting there, without a damn clue, and you already know Dean’s hiding something. As he realizes what he’s doing, Dean makes himself look up at you, and he puts on his best macho face. “Punch you back? With these guns?” He pats his bicep. “I don’t think so, Sleeping Beauty; you’re precious cargo.”

“You’re insane.” You roll your eyes and take a bite of Dean’s pie. “In what world would you ever hurt me?”

For a second, the lie is easy to tell, and Dean jokingly huffs when he grabs his container of pie and fork back from you. “In a world where you friggin’ steal my pie!”

You just laugh at Dean, knowing _without a doubt_ there’s _no way_ he’d ever hurt you. Moving quickly, in a fashion that Dean taught you, you reach over and steal Dean’s last bite of pie from his container and poke it in your mouth.

Dean shakes his head, and jerks his head toward the door. “I’ll give you and Sammy ten more minutes.” He winks. “Make ‘em count.”

“Shut up,” you playfully scoff and laugh at Dean, but take off in a run toward the stairs, jog up them, and race out the door. 

The room is quiet with you gone. Dean stares at his glass of whiskey, lifts it up to the light, and stares at the barely visible cracks in the glass. He remembers the night he sat up and glued the tiny shards together. It was just like sewing up stitches, the seams in the glass are hardly able to be seen, but they’re still there, and there they’ll stay.  

Once again, Dean unrolls the cuff of his shirt and covers up the burning Mark on the inside of his arm with black flannel. Even though it’s out of sight, The Mark still feels like it’s sizzling on his skin, reminding Dean of exactly how it was in _this_ world where he did in fact hurt you. He took. He broke. He ruined, and back then, it didn’t matter. _You_ didn’t matter. _Sam_ didn’t matter. The _world_ didn’t matter, because it was his for the taking, to do whatever he pleased, and he did.

With black eyes strangling out green, Dean took what he wanted, because _nothing_ mattered: not your cries, not your tears, your blood, your pain, your ripped skin, or your bruises. Dean knows, given the chance, before he was cured, he would have _taken_ more. Back then, Dean enjoyed  _everything_ he _took,_ and he remembers he would have _gladly_ re-bruised your body, relished in your tears, pain, and blood, and adored every little – or _big_ – rip in your skin. Those are Dean’s memories, cured or not. His black eyes might be gone, but the _blackness_ inside him isn’t. The Mark still burns and thrums on his skin like the first time he touched The First Blade. His memories are still there – clear as day, but just because everything thing in _his_ life feels like it’s falling apart, crumbling into a black nothing, doesn’t mean it has to be like that for you and Sam. This is Dean’s cross to bear, because he remembers everything.

And he _always_ knew he would.

His eyes might be green, but that _blackness_ is just under the surface; the Mark reminds him of that _every_ _time_ Dean’s heart beats and _every_ _time_ he takes a breath. He can cover The Mark up with his black long-sleeved shirt all he wants, but it’s still there, and that scares Dean _every_ _day_.

He doesn’t want to be a monster. He doesn’t want to ‘go back’ to the way things were when he was a demon and did what he pleased – _hurt_ whomever he pleased, but The Mark is still on his arm and the _black_ is still just under the surface. 

Right now, there’s nothing he can do about The Mark, or the blackness that continuously screams under his skin, or the lie he’s told – and will _continue_ to tell – but what he _can_ _do_ is protect you and Sam. He doesn’t think he can save himself, but knows he _can save_ you and his little brother.

And he will.

 _This_ is how he has to do it.

He’ll keep his secret and deal with the consequences later – just like he _always_ does.

~The End.~

 

 

 

 

 

 _I see a red door, and I want it painted black._  
_No colors anymore, I want them to turn black._  
_I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes._  
_I have to turn my head until my darkness goes._

 _I see a line of cars, and they’re all painted black._  
_With flowers and my love both never to come back._  
_I see people turn their heads and quickly look away._  
_Like a newborn baby, it just happens every day._

 _I look inside myself and see my heart is black._  
_I see my red door, I must have it painted black._  
_Maybe then I’ll fade away and not have to face the facts._  
_It’s not easy facin’ up when your whole world is black._

 _No more will my green sea go turn a deeper blue._  
_I could not foresee this thing happening to you._  
_If I look hard enough into the setting sun,_  
_My love will laugh with me before the morning comes._

 _I see a red door, and I want it painted black._  
_No colors anymore, I want them to turn black._  
_I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes._  
_I have to turn my head until my darkness goes._

_Hmmm, hmmm, hmmm…_

_I wanna see it painted, painted black_  
_Black as night, black as coal._  
_I wanna see the sun blotted out from the sky._  
_I wanna see it painted, painted, painted, painted black._


End file.
